The Best Trick
by dance-tilyou'redead
Summary: In 1880 Brittany runs from a haunted past, assuming her brother's identity and joining the US army. Santana is content with her life and work as one of Shelby's girls, never dreaming of anything better. When fate, gold and railroads bring them together in the lawless mining settlement of Clothier both their lives will be changed forever.
1. Corcoran's Drink and Gaming House

Major Hudson rides through town with a company of men at his back. His head is held high in a pose of superiority we all know is unearned. His father is some fancy man in Washington who needed to get his son out from under foot. The man who follows immediately after is a lieutenant Anderson and he commands the troops that Hudson is meant to be marching toward Santa Fe.

Their stop in Clothier is apparently part of a training exercise. They are also here to show both prospectors and Indians alike that Federal law is enforced in the South. That's why their marching through town like the most sombre circus in history. They want everyone to know they've arrived.

The men of this company, like most have a reputation that has preceded them and the girls at Corcoran's Drink and Gaming House are out on full display as they pass through. We are well prepared to provide whatever entertainment the group could require during their stay.

I'm out on the balcony with the rest of the girls. Quinn is to my immediate left looking as displeased with the crowd as she usually does.

"Show some thigh ladies," is the instruction thrown at us by Shelby, the hard woman running the House.

There are very few people in the world that hold my respect but Shelby Corcoran is one of them. She carved out a place for herself and her girls here in clothier; when there was hardly a damn thing out here.

And she cares for her girls, she really does. If one of us shows up with an unwarranted bruise or black eye, the Trick we'd been servicing will suddenly find himself without credit in the house. Likewise if one of the girls were to find themselves in a family way, Shelby would take care of the child in whatever way the potential mother may wish to have it taken care of. Quinn's child for example was suitably adopted away to an infertile couple in Santa Fe just last year.

I lean over the balcony, so I can see the boys in the company better and so they can see my breasts better. Nearly every member of the company glances up to look at us. It's going to be a busy week for Corcoran's.

Every girl around me does her best to stir up the right kind of attention. We know that the roof over our heads is based on our ability to bring money in to the business. The services that we can provide are the only kind of living any of us can make and each one of us is grateful for the care Shelby takes with her girls.

Without knowing what these particular men might have a preference for, we all do our best to appear as generally appealing as possible. Not specific to taste or preference. Just appealing.

Every single girl has her hair brushed and smoothed down. Our dresses are clean. The whites are white and the few stretches of crimson fabric were re-stained just yesterday to appear as bright as possible in the midday sun. We have a few flashes of blue or purple in ribbons and sashes breaking in some diversity of colour.

The dresses are all just window dressing really since Shelby has made it her express goal to have every taste catered to. If a man wants to find God between the legs of a sweet Irish girl he can. If a man wants to find the devil in crimson petticoats he can do that too. I'm one of three girls with my particular complexion. There are girls with much darker skin than mine and more in between. There's the daughter of a chinaman and Shelby even keeps a few Boys on just in case. And there's still plenty of room for the clean looking Irish girls to make up any difference.

I pull at my skirts to make sure that the blue layer in my petticoat is visible to the men passing the house. I need to attract the attention of at least one Trick as well as pour spirits for a few hours tonight if I'm going to earn my keep for the week. Shelby may treat her girls well but she also has a business to run.

I look at the faces of the men nearest the house and I mostly see fresh faced boys. Probably even younger than me. Hardly ready for any kind of military conflict. I wonder how long they will end up staying in Clothier. Sometimes a company will come through for respite. Sometimes they're posted out here for training. We prefer to see the former because those boys usually arrive with full pockets and a hearty appetite.

Once the Last of the company move past us we all gather back inside. We need to clean the main floor, the game tables and all the rooms. If only half the company make it through our doors tonight then we want the other half following them back in tomorrow night.

We're briefed on our duties thoroughly but efficiently and it's no time at all before I'm on my knees scrubbing the floors of the third floor rooms. I have a bucket of grey, soapy water beside me. Quinn is there too with Sugar scrubbing the window glass, frames and cornices of dust. Mercedes is humming to herself out in the hall.

They gossip as they work but I try to ignore them, preferring to get my work done quickly and quietly.

Their conversation inevitably turns to the military men we expect to see tonight.

Sugar likes to hum while she works but she breaks her tune to answer Quinn's questions, "I don't see why we wouldn't see every one of those boys at least one night this week. I mean half of them look like they only just left their Momma's hip. First rotation out why wouldn't they want to sample some of Clothiers finer colour." She winks at me cheekily.

Quinn gives her a distinctly disdainful glare, "Need you be so crude."

Sugar mocks a shocked expression, "Why Quinn, I thought I had used as delicate a phrasing as One could muster under our circumstances."

Sugar smirks at me and I return her look. Quinn is such an easy target when she's in this kind of mood and Sugar seems to take a lot of joy in winding her up.

When we first arrived at Corcoran's I thought that Quinn's virginal innocence routine was for the Tricks, matching the sweet Irish looks. Turned out she's like that pretty much all the time.

Sugar enjoys messing with Quinn. I enjoy watching them and Quinn seems to still like Sugar all the same. I guess I don't really know what Quinn thinks of me.

Sugar steps down from the stool she'd used to get high enough on the window to clean, "You may not be inclined to fucking the colorful ladies yourself Miss Fabray but I know for a fact that your dearest Tricks will like themselves some rainbow delights all the same…excuse my French," she finishes blithely.

Quinn gasps at Sugar before firming her expression. The cleaning cloth she was using on the glass is held tight in her hand. Her mouth forms a straight line. I still my own hands on the scrubbing brush, silently waiting for Quinn's response.

Her face seems set but then I see a quiver in her cheek and one eyebrow creeps up before she finally cracks a smile, "You, Miss Sugar, are incorrigible. Also, I happen to speak French and not a word of that was."

Sugar laughs and I join in her easy laughter. Quinn has the good decency to blush before we all go back to cleaning. Sugar goes back to humming and Quinn joins in harmony. They're hymns I know but it isn't in me to join them.

Just before nightfall I find myself behind the bar, rearranging bottles and glasses. A few girls are still sweeping and cleaning but most are sitting about talking happily amongst themselves. Some sit together, playing with each other's hair or making small adjustments to each others dresses. I can see Mercedes and Sugar in one corner whispering and laughing conspiratorially together.

Shelby calls for everyone's attention as she corrals the last of the girls in the saloon, "Well ladies, as you are all aware, we are up for a busy night and it's going to be a strong start to the season. We have a fresh company of military boys camped just outside Clothier. We already know that they like to drink but I'm sure as anything that they'll be up for more than that. Your job for the first few hours of this evening is to get a sure gauge as to what their preferences might be. If it's gambling, make sure they find themselves at the tables. If it's…" She hesitates as though searching for the best phrasing.

Sugar pipes up first, "If they're here for Pussy?".

Some of the girls smirk as Shelby shakes her head and smiles indulgently at Sugar, "Yes if our patrons require a bed for the night—or a few hours—you know how the negotiations work." She nods towards where I'm standing at the bar, "No free drinks tonight, I don't care how many battles they've fought or how many squealing infants they've saved. That goes for fucking too. If you want to share sweet kisses without charge you do so on your own time."

Shelby glances around at her girls to make sure we all understood. With a final nod she turns her back to us and the girls disperse. I go back to arranging the Rum, Whiskey and bourbon bottles.

Things are in full swing a few hours after the first boys cross the threshold. I'm dolling out trays of whiskey shots and fielding more than one request for opiates. You know, the ones that can either destroy a man's mind or cure all his ills. I've tried a few varieties but found them to leave me more unsettled than anything else. There seems to be a steady supply through town that doesn't always come through the doctors pharmaceuticals.

I suspect most of the supply comes from the other end of town. Maybe Puck who likes to smile and be so sweet with all us girls. Puck never offers any opium at Corcoran's but I'd assume that's only because Shelby has forbidden any of her girls from partaking on the job.

Puck is here tonight of course just like so many of the regulars. The townies and prospectors in their rough and ready attire stand out against the soldier men in their uniforms. Puck stands out a little more than most with the strange haircut he wears along with his signature smirk. The smirk that suggests he has some secret.

I was something of a favorite of Puck's for so long that we know each other well. He's a pretty good Trick over all. He's kind and he smells a little better than the average prospector. These days, though his tastes have swung more towards the blonde, virginal type of girl so I don't see as much of him any more.

Quinn is his new favorite and I try not to wince at her expression when I see her leading Puck upstairs. She is putting in an excellent performance tonight, really. She's making sure that Puck feels wanted, making sure he'll feel he got his money's worth. Unfortunately I can see straight through her facade. I can see what this job does to her.

I try not to think about it. We have it pretty good here, really. Lamenting our lot in life will achieve nothing but sore heads and frown lines.

I shift the stack of glasses I just cleaned back under the bar. Shelby has determined that cleanliness is the most important aspect of our service tonight. The best for the boys.

I run the palms of my hands over a towel to rub away any excess moisture as I turn to find the next man looking for a drink.

My hands pause along with my breath and heartbeat as I find myself locked in the gaze of the fairest blue eyes I have ever seen. My fingers tingle and my lungs are starting to protest but I can't—won't break the moment just yet.

The face around those blue eyes shift slightly and there is humor shining through. I shift my eye line to the floor and find my breath again. When I lift my gaze back up I'm careful not to get too distracted by the man's eyes. I glance around his face instead. The man—or boy, since he could only be seventeen, maybe slightly older—smiles brightly at me. His face is dirty and I can see a few bedraggled strands of blonde hair poking out from underneath his cap.

"What can I get you?" I ask, desperately trying to keep my voice even. My heart is tapping out an unusual rhythm and I can almost feel it putting a wobble in my voice. I clear my throat hoping to make myself clearer since the boy has yet to answer me, "Can I get you a whiskey?"

The boy smiles even more brightly and I feel my breathing stutter again, "Well I would love one thank you. Although if you have any sarsaparilla I would be grateful," his voice is low and conspiratorial and I can't help but feel a smile tug at my lips.

I try to control my grin as I raise one eyebrow at the boy, "Do you really want a sarsaparilla over honest whiskey?"

He blushes and looks down, nudging at the brim of his cap, "Well, I guess I just wanted something a little sweeter?" he's almost asking for my approval.

"Sweeter?" I ask incredulously, "What are you twelve years old? How did you even get into service?"

"I'm twenty one!" the boy almost shouts and his voice seems to crack at the end, as if to deny exactly what he's trying to declare.

Both my eyebrows climb towards my hairline but I'm careful not to laugh. No man(or boy) will pay for a night with a woman who laughs at him.

The boy huffs and clears his throat, his next words coming from much deeper in his chest, "I'm twenty one and a perfectly capable soldier. I just don't like how whiskey burns is all," he grouses, indignant. "And so what if I like sweets. Doesn't everyone?"

I Just blink at him. I guess most people do like sweets.

I look left and right before pouring out two glasses of whiskey, "No Sarsaparilla I'm afraid Sweets," he looks thoroughly dejected so I continue, "But if you're willing to pay for two drinks then I'm willing to suffer the burn with you."

He looks at me skeptically so I nudge one glass towards him and pick up the other, "What do you say Sweets? Have a drink with me?"

He looks at the whiskey in front of him and then at the one in my hand, "You'll really drink with me?"

He looks so unsure so I give him what I hope is a charming smile. His eyes flick from my eyes to my lips, to the glass in my hand. He finally picks up his glass.

"To girls with pretty smiles?" he suggests.

I try not to roll my eyes, lifting my glass instead, "To one day drinking real Sarsaparilla," I say clinking my drink to the side of his and tipping my glass to swallow the whiskey in one.

The burn is a familiar one and I don't even flinch, watching the boy lift his glass more cautiously. He seems to hold his breath, closing his eyes as he tips the glass back.

A loud choking noise escapes him and he flutters his hands around his face as though hoping to fan away the taste of the whiskey. I can't hold it in any longer. I laugh, completely bemused by this strange boy.

I try to smother the laugh but it's already out and the boy looks at me with tears in his eyes that only make me laugh harder. He joins in after a beat and we just keep laughing, hardly able to stop.

I regain control long enough to hold the bottle up to offer another drink. The boy nods, even as he wipes the tears of laughter from his cheeks.

He smiles at me with his chin resting on his hand, elbow on the bar, "You really have the sweetest smile and there's a dip in your cheek when you laugh, did you know? What's your name?"

"Santana," I answer shortly as I pour another round.

The boy nods, "I'm Brent," he mentions casually, picking up the glass I've placed back in front of him.

The whiskey has gone straight to my head, making me feel bold so I scrunch my nose up in a grimace, "I think I'll stick with calling you Sweets then."

He smiles at that, raising his glass again, "To Sarsaparilla, and to getting to know you better Miss Santana."

I throw back my drink, laughing at Brent as he hesitates and then swallows his own with a grimace.

He slams his glass back down on the bar. The alcohol has clearly already gone to his head, "Another!" he states with a grin.

I happily oblige, wanting nothing more than to watch that smile and those blue eyes all night.

— s — — b —

Brittany can feel the alcohol, already. She knows she should stop, that it's dangerous to let her guard down like this. Her Lieutenant isn't here but there are plenty of men around who would report any indiscretions directly to him. There's just something about Santana though, that keeps her at the bar. Brittany wants to know her and if she has to down a whole bottle of whiskey so be it.


	2. lost his jacket and overshirt

Thanks everyone for their reviews, adds and faves. I appreciate it soooooo much. really.

**Panda-Panda, Conri: **Cross dressing Britt does many things for me also. Make sure you check out Gleedcanon on Tumblr for #Jazzverse.

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I wake up with light streaming through my window. Dust swirls through the ribbons of light, stirred by imperceptible movements of air. I'm comfortable and warm and I settle easily into the warm body pressed against my back.

…

I'm pressed back to chest with someone whose slender arms are wrapped securely around me. One arm is slung over my waist with the other acting as a pillow under my head. I watch their fingers flex infinitesimally.

This isn't the first time that I've woken up with an unknown Trick but it's the first time in a while. I try to remember what happened last night. I remember Shelby making her speech. Then the soldier boys started coming in and them there was that strange blue-eyed boy that wanted sarsaparilla. The boy that I talked with while he kept buying me drinks.

I squeeze my eyes shut trying to remember anything beyond that. I fail, realizing that the person sharing my bed must be that same strange young man. I can only hope that he paid for our evening. Shelby will read me the riot act if I gave it away for free. Even with all the drinks he must have bought, I still need a Trick for the week to pay my board.

I sneak a peak over my shoulder. Sure enough, the boy from last night is snuggled into my back. I turn to face him, wriggling back on the bed so I can get a better look at him. We're still on top of the blankets on the still made bed.

His hair is long and pulled back in a braid which must have been hidden under his cap yesterday. His limbs are long, lithe, almost delicate in their repose against the bed. His brow is undefined, soft in sleep, though there is a shallow crease between his eyebrows, like he has cause to fret even in his dreams.

I can't help but reach forward to smooth out the line there. I pause within a hairs breadth of his skin. My finger tips tingle with the heat coming off him.

The crease deepens for a second and he mumbles something before one comprehensible word slips out. "Santana?"

My hand snaps back to my chest. I try not to look guilty as I shuffle further back over the blankets. He doesn't open his eyes though. He's talking in his sleep. Dreaming about me. My mouth goes dry.

I can't have some Soldier deciding that he loves me. I'll never leave Clothier. I don't fall in love. I've never had the capacity for it. For all the men that have declared their affections for me, I have never once returned their sentiments. Of course, I've read about love and the perfect life of those who have it. But it's not something I can imagine in my future. I can't become a wife in a little house with six children and a white picket fence. I'm a whore and nothing more. I came to terms with that a long time ago.

When I'm sure that the soldier(I wrack my brain for his name) Brent is still very much asleep, I slip from the bed. I hold my breath and listen for any noises in the House. There is nothing. It must still be very early in the morning.

I sit down in the chair by the window with a sigh. I won't be going back to sleep now and I can't leave the room until Brent wakens. It's House rules: if a Trick has paid for the night then he gets to wake up with a girl next to him.

Sometimes I can read in the morning if I remember to bring a book into the room. Apparently literature wasn't something I thought about last night. I'm pretty sure I didn't have sex with Brent though. My clothes seem to be all in order(my corset is still laced) and Brent has only lost his jacket and overshirt.

I look over the boy still asleep on the bed. His fair hair and features are certainly feminine. His lean, long arms muscular but hardly bulky. He said last night that he is twenty one but I can't believe that for a second. He's sixteen, seventeen at most and far too young for a soldier. Granted i'm only nineteen and have been a whore for a long time. I'm not one to judge any other person's vocational choices. Even if a boy does choose a profession sure to get him killed.

Brent grumbles in his sleep and even those husky mumblings are sweet and feminine.

…

An absurd thought occurs to me and I glance toward the boy's chest. His collarbones are as delicate as the rest of him but there is no sign of anything strange otherwise. I glance over his shoulders down his defined bicep and lean arms. His chest rises and falls subtly. He is certainly slim, still lying on his side, the topography of his frame well defined. There is a distinct but smooth curve in his shape. His chest and ribs dip down into his waist then back up over the rise of his hips. The way he is lying shows perfectly the way the curve of his hips and thighs taper down to his knees.

He(although I'm very nearly convinced that this must surely be a woman) has a more womanly figure than I do. Of course I have been called skinny and boyish in the past but I am still distinctly female. This person lying peacefully, mumbling my name in restful sleep must be female.

I'm leaning so far forward in my seat that I may as well be standing. I finally shift to the bed, careful not to disturb him. I look over his face again. She is familiar now, like I've spent the night staring at her; stared at her long enough to describe the hidden constellations in her freckles. A memory of last night comes back to me.

— — s — b — —

We spent hours just talking and drinking at the bar. He paid for the whiskey and then for a bed. He seemed genuinely surprised when I followed him into this room though. I had to wonder why he thought a simple room for one night could be so expensive. I guess the alcohol may have been impeding his judgement. I know it was impeding mine.

I took his jacket off without a thought and he let me. I let my hands drift to the hem of his overshirt and tried to lift it up. He gasped so dramatically I couldn't help but laugh. I stepped back to look into his face and found it so bright red that I worried for his health.

He grabbed my hands, stilling them against his stomach. I could feel the muscles underneath tensing as he shifted from one foot to the other. I looked up into clear blue eyes. The bashful smile there made me catch my breath. I pushed up on my toes so I could kiss him.

I don't usually kiss Tricks on their first trip(sometimes never) but the alcohol had me feeling…giddy, like a young girl with a fresh crush. I looked at his lips, determined not to miss, despite the alcohol. His grip tightened on my hands and he leaned away, causing me to fall against his collar.

Tears immediately filled my eyes. The sting of rejection too much to bare. I tugged on his shirt even tighter and pressed my face against his chest as sobs shook me. I felt him lean back then a gasp reached my ears. He mumbled something about 'oh poor little darlin' and then wrapped his arms around me.

I sobbed into him as his arms squeezed me tighter to his chest. "What on earth have you to cry about?"

I mumbled something but I don't know what.

"I want to help Miss Santana but I need something to go on."

That just made me cry even harder since no one had called me 'Miss' in a very long time.

"Oh please stop crying," he said with a hint of desperation. "Please, I'll kiss you if it will make you feel better."

That got through to me and I leaned back to look at his face which was once again as red as Tina's petticoats. He looked so nervous that my tears stopped and I actually laughed.

I told him through sniffles, "Don't be so nervous Sweets. You paid for the time, it's up to you."

"I'm not sure what I paid for but if this means you're staying then I'll pay whatever you ask."

I know that he laughed then but everything after is a blur. The fact that no clothes(other than shoes) were removed after that conversation suggests that not much happened between then and now.

Except a lot has happened. I'm pretty sure I've come to the conclusion that this particular Trick is actually a woman.

— — s — b — —

I lie down and lean my head to the side, hoping that a different viewing angle will make things clearer. It doesn't help at all. Instead I am just that much closer to her(maybe her) and his(maybe his) breath is stirring the air at my chest.

I finally follow the impulse to smooth out the crease between his brows. My hand drifts from my side to follow the line of her brow with just one fingertip. The crease grows deeper before smoothing out altogether. Her eyes open; Sparkling blue takes my breath away.

"Good morning Miss Santana," such easy simplicity.

"Good morning Sweets," who knew I was capable of equal simplicity.

Brent smiles broadly, "I'm glad you're still here."

I guess she remembers more than I do. "Do you remember much of last night?"

He nods. There is a sparkle in his eyes and he seems to see the question in mine. He answers what I won't say out loud. "There was no mischief had Miss Santana," he glances down at the shirt covering his chest. "We still have our clothes on and everything, see."

I follow her gaze down and accidentally let my eyes wander further down to her crotch where a bulge pushes out her buttons.

I'm so confused I just don't know how to even begin my question.

I glance back up to her face. She is smiling serenely as she asks, "What's in your mind Miss Santana?"

The question is as open and uncomplicated as Brent himself seems to be. Simple except for that one biological puzzle.

I have to know. "Brent…" I pause with no idea how to ask my question. "How long have you been a soldier for?" I stall as I press one hand to her sternum and feel bandages under her shirt.

He frowns, "I enlisted About nine months ago I guess," he scratches at the back of his neck. "I think so. But I never really knew much about reading a calendar so…" he trails off. "What about you? Have you worked here long?" Again the question is uncomplicated and completely void of innuendo or scorn.

I shrug my shoulders. This isn't helping anything. His voice is low and gravely with sleep. But anyone can lower their voice. I need to know. That curve of her hip. The delicate curl to her lips—her cheekbones—are tantalizingly feminine. Everything about her contrasts with the rough fabric and boxy shape of the soldier's uniform.

I lean in to kiss her again, remembering her reaction last night.

She reacts the same way, abruptly pulling back from me. I play the whore well, reaching down without hesitation. I grab at the bulge in her pants and know instantly that it is not connected to a man's body. The weight and warmth is altogether wrong. The way that Brent leaps away from the bed is even more telling.

"Who are you?" I question, standing by the other side of the bed.

She looks stunned at my and question.

"I—I already told you," she stammers. "My name is—"

"A lie. Your name isn't Brent and you aren't a soldier." I pause, "Unless you are. But they don't know about you. They can't." I begin pacing the room as I try to get a grasp on what is going on.

The soldier stares at me, colour draining rapidly from her face. She's panicking, her eyes darting between me, the bed and the door. I shift to stand in front of the door.

I need to know what is going on here.

"You're a girl. You're dressed as a man and you've taken a man'a name but you aren't one."

— — s — b — —

Brittany breathes shallowly, each breath tearing through her lungs. Her secret is out and she is ruined. She'll be sent to prison just as soon as Santana can send for her captain. That's the punishment for a woman posing as a man in the U.S Army. There is nothing she can do to stop it. Except maybe threaten or hurt Santana which she would never do.

Brittany feels tears of panic prick her eyes. She stumbles back to the bed and sits down with her back to Santana. The first sob surprises her but she quickly covers her face with both hands. She doesn't want to break in front of this woman. It's kind of inevitable but she'll hide the tears if she can.

A soft hand on the back of her head makes Brittany jump. She looks to the side and sees Santana sitting next to her. Her hand is still hovering above Brittany's shoulder and she is smiling hesitantly. Brittany says nothing, surprised when Santana'a hand goes back to smoothing down her hair.

— — s — b — —

I don't know why I'm still here. Maybe it's curiosity. The girl is a mystery after all. Maybe I just can't bear to see her looking so damn sad.

She swallows before speaking. "Are you going to report me?"

This is what has her so distressed. I shake my head. If this girl wants to run around playing soldiers that's none of my concern.

Her worried frown is replaced instantly with a relieved grin. She launches herself at me, her arms wrap tightly around my back so that my own arms fold automatically over her shoulders. Her face is pressed against my shoulder and she mumbles her thank you's over and again. I awkwardly pat down her hair waiting for the sobs to cease.

Finally, she leans back, swiping the tears off her cheeks.

I search her face. Her cheeks are still ruddy and wet with tears. My hand is acting of its own accord, continuing to stroke her hair.

She takes a deep breath, looking up at me through pale eye lashes, "I guess you might want to know some things?" she rubs at the back of her neck. I wonder how anyone has ever mistaken her for a man.

I shift a lock of hair behind her ear. When my fingertips stroke back down her left cheekbone her face floods with colour. My fingers trace over one side of her jaw then the other; fingertips follow over her brow and she smiles. I pull my hand back and feel my own face grow hot. She takes my retreating hand and returns it to her face. Her hands are so warm around mine. Just like the cheek she presses into my hand.

I let my thumb stroke over the soft skin below her eye. "Who are you?" I feel my eyes narrow as I try to will this woman to reveal her secrets.

"I'm Brittany," she says with a shrug as she lets our hands drop to her lap.

Now I know. Brittany is just as uncomplicated as Brent had been.


	3. We could be dancing

AN: thanks for all the reviews, favorites and follows. You guys are awesome sauce. I'm sorry for any mistakes in this chapter and the last. I'm unbeta'd and editing/uploading from my phone. If you spot any historical guffs please feels free to PM me . Since I've never studied American History before I have been madly researching as I write.

Thanks for reading.

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"Brittany," I test out the name."I like it better than Brent."

'Brittany' suits both the blonde girl and the slim boy far better than 'Brent'. There is a pretty good chance I'll keep calling her Sweets though, especially with the way she seems to light up every time I do. Her smile is bright and warm like afternoon sun. I can feel it.

"So Sweets," there's that smile. "How old are you really?"

Brittany shrugs, "I'm twenty one like I said. Or at least I think I am. Calendars you know." she looks down embarrassed.

I try not to be judgmental but when she keeps making statements like that I have to wonder if she isn't at least a little bit simple in the head. I doubt she can read. Then again, there are probably few soldiers who can. Men don't volunteer these days if they have another choice. Since The War Between The States, it's harder to convince boys that a military life will be a glorious one. For all that we'd like to forget, we've all seen the photos. The fields covered in bodies of men torn apart by canon and gun fire. The few survivors that live today are usually disfigured and missing limbs.

Brittany prompts me with a squeeze of my hands to return to the conversation. "What about you Miss Santana? You seem awfully young to be working at a drink and gambling joint."

I tilt my head, unsure where Brittany might be going with this line if inquiry. Is it possible that she still doesn't understand what kind of business Corcorans is? She seems a little dim and definitely naive, but still.

I clear my throat, "I'm not much younger than you but I didn't exactly choose this life." The man that sold her did.

"What would you have done if you could chose?"

I'm completely thrown by the abrupt change of topic. "Umm, I don't know. I haven't really thought about it before."

Brittany nods and leans back against the pillows, releasing my hands which feel instantly cold.

She looks so sad. I follow her lead and recline against the wall above the bed. I tuck both my hands under me, palm down on the blankets.

"What would you have done if you hadn't become a soldier?" I ask. "What were you doing before?"

She chuckles lightly, "You already asked me that."

I feel my face scrunch up in confusion. "No I didn't, I—"

"Last night," she clarifies. "After many whiskeys. We had quite the heart to heart." She grins mischievously.

I blush but hold her gaze, "Yes, well you were buying."

"And you were certainly drinking," she retorts with a chuckle.

I don't know what to say. I feel like I need to fill in the lost time from last night. I'm too proud to just ask though. I watch her fingers playing with the edge of her shirt as we slip into a comfortable silence. She shifts to one side so she is completely facing me on the bed. I resist the urge to do the same. I watch her hands shift to picking at the blanket. Her face is pensive, like she has all the world's worries on her mind. Although (if I think about it)the worries of an infant would probably cause the same deep reflection in this woman.

The sadness in her face gets deeper and i can't bear to see her looking so distraught. I finally relent, twisting to my side so I'm facing Brittany with my head propped up on one hand. My other arm is draped at the wrist over my hip. My eyes look over her face and I see her gaze fixed to her own hands. She looks up from her pillow to see me looking at her. She blushes so brightly I'd swear I could feel the heat of it. I wonder what she was thinking about.

"Miss Santana?" her voice is hesitant and her eyes switch back to her hands without her saying anything more.

I wait patiently but it seems she hasn't anything more to say. She looks into my eyes once again before her gaze drifts down, over my chest and settles on the clasps of my corset. Her hands halt their fidgeting on the blanket. My heart beat picks up as she moves her left hand closer to me. My breathing becomes uneven as her fingertips run over the front clasps of my corset. She doesn't seem to notice the change in my breathing as she continues to trace the patterns in the fabric surrounding them.

"It's so fine," she says quietly as if just talking to herself. "Aren't you uncomfortable though?"

I don't say anything. I can only just feel her light touch through the layers of fabric but a tingle runs through me all the same. When she flattens her hand the heat from her palm seems to burn into my side.

"Dancing," she says quietly, still talking at her hands.

"W-what?" I curse the quiver in my voice caused by the staccato rhythm of my heart.

She shrugs, eyes fixed on my waist where her left hand still rests; her thumb makes small circles across the lace. She takes a deep breath through her nose and let's it shakily out through her lips. "Before I became a soldier, I was going to be a dancer."

Again my confusion is written clearly on my face.

Before she can reveal any more a bell rings downstairs. It's a signal to all the girls that their Trick's time is up(the regulars know what it means too).

I take the hand Brittany rests on my side and place it back on the blankets between us. Our fingers twine easily together as I look up into her eyes.

"It's time for you to go," I explain.

She looks downcast but accepting. "Can I see you again?"

I hesitate, unsure of what she means. Will she see me around camp? Maybe. Will we occupy the same bed again? I don't see how. She would have to purchase my time. I can't imagine she would mistakenly pay quite so much for a room again.

I wonder how much opportunity I'll have to see her outside, in the camp. I don't spend much time outside the house now but if I were to go out and watch the soldiers training as some of the girls like to do…

Brittany clears her throat and tightens her grip on my hand, reminding me that she asked a question.

I shake my head, "I don't think so Sweets," she almost smiles as I continue. "But maybe if your company stays here for a long while."

She nods solemnly. "So I'll see more of you if the company stays." I don't say anything. "Maybe Major Hudson will let us have a dance?" her eyes light up at the prospect. "And if the whole town is invited then we can dance together! Can you imagine it? All the boys in their uniform and all you girls dolled up with your pretty dresses. The whole town all dressed up and ready to dance like real ladies and proper gentleman."

She paints a lovely picture. I can almost imagine what it would be like. Brittany with her uniform cleaned, her buttons polished. The music joyful. Brittany crossing a crowded room to ask me to dance. I could take her hand and look up into her smiling eyes.

…

It' a silly fantasy.

I untangle my hand from hers gently, "But we aren't invited." I explain. "You aren't a gentleman and I'm not a lady."

Brittany frowns but doesn't make any move to reclaim my my hand.

A crease reforms between her eyebrows. "But you are a lady Miss Santana."

I shake my head, frustrated. "No I'm not." I state firmly. "And you need to stop calling me 'Miss'. I haven't been a Miss-anything in a long time Brittany."

The frown that pulls down the corners of her lips is heartbreaking. I'm tempted to apologise, to pull her hand into mine and tell her that everything will be alright; that I am a lady and we will dance together at a lovely ball thrown by her Major.

I want to foolishly let her fantasy stay with us for longer. But the bell rings again down stairs and I know that the fantasies are for nothing. I am still a whore and Brittany is still, well, whatever Brittany might be. Her uniform is still masculine, her hair will be forced back under a man's cap and she will most likely die in the first military conflict she sees.

I ignore her pout and slip away from the bed. I sweep the room for anything we might have put out of place. Britany's uniform shirt and jacket is on the floor so I bend down to pick them up.

When I pass them to her the pout is still well and truly in place.

She looks up at me as she puts her overshirt back on, "So I might not see you again?" she asks.

I shrug, avoiding Brittany's eyes as I keep looking around the room. "Maybe not." There have been companies before that passed through for just a few nights. "Don't get too attached to Clothier," (and don't get attached to me).

She nods, threading her arms into her jacket. "Well then," she circles the bed to stand in front of me. "I may not be a gentleman, Miss Santana but I know that you're a Lady. One day someone will treat you like one; will treat you like you deserve."

She takes my hand and raises it between us. "Good day Miss Santana. I wish you very well." she brushes her lips across my knuckles.

I blink down at our joined hands, at a complete loss for words.

She gently returns my hand to my side then exits the room.

— — s — b — —

Brittany closes the door behind her then leans heavily against it. The cool brass of the door knob is pressed into her palm, erasing what warmth remained from holding Santana's side. She hopes that this isn't the last time she see's Santana. Brittany feels certain that last night she met a friend. She's sure—like she's never been sure of anything before—that given enough time she and Santana could be the best of friends. Brittany just wants to go back in and spend the rest of her day with Santana but she's been told that she has to leave. She doesn't want to get Santana into trouble.

Brittany takes a deep breath and steps away from the door. She's in a long hallway and it takes a moment to get her bearings. Santana had led the way last night with some haste so Brittany had just followed behind. Closely behind since she was hoping to see more of that smile.

Brittany could just watch her all day. The way that Santana's cheeks would swell over her grin with her eyes scrunched up in the corners; her laugh made Brittany smile.

A light pattering of bare feet catches Brittany's attention and she sees a slight, blonde girl running towards her. Brittany presses back against the wall to let the girl past. She is a little shorter than Brittany(though taller than Santana) and she's in something of a state of undress. Her hair is disheveled and the clasps on her corset are only half closed. She brushes past Brittany without a glance, turning the corner at the end of the hallway and disappearing out of sight.

A moment later, a young man struts into view. His boots are untied and several of his shirt buttons have been left undone. He wears a cocky smirk as he tucks his shirt tails into his trousers.

He spots Brittany and gives a low shout "Ho Soldier Boy! Decided to purchase Santana's special skills eh?"

He must have seen Brittany talking with Santana at the bar last night. Though Brittany doesn't understand what 'special skills' the man could be talking about. She supposes Santana's drink pouring could be called a skill. Brittany gives a half nod, hoping that Puck will interpret the appropriate response.

"Haha! Excellent." The man chortles happily, seizing Brittany around the shoulders and guiding her down the hall. "It's a good thing too. She's been a might sour since I took a preference for Quinn. I'd thought about taking up with her again for a night but… well, you know a man's appetite directs where it will. I hope you made a night of it."

He looks at Brittany as if for confirmation. Brittany still has no idea what he's talking about so she shakes her head this time, just in case.

The man pauses their footsteps to look at Brittany, pulling his arm from around her shoulders. "You didn't?"

She shakes her head again.

For a moment Brittany is terrified she's said the wrong thing but Puck finally lets out a chuckle, "Maybe next time eh?"

Brittany shrugs.

Puck wears an amused expression. "Don't say much do you Soldier Boy?" he holds out his hand between them. "I'm Noah Puckerman by the way, but you seem an alright sort so I guess you can call me Puck."

Brittany takes his hand with as much pressure as she can muster. She'd noticed that the harder she pressed a man's hand in greeting the better that man would receive her. Puck is no different and he smiles even as she hides a wince of pain from the grip he has on her hand. He looks at her expectantly.

"Oh, I'm Br—Brent." she stutters out. Her morning of honesty with Santana had made her forgetful, nearly saying her own name. She can't let herself forget, ever.

Puck laughs as he continues on down the hall, guiding them past several doors and down a set of stairs. "Well B-B-Brent, It's nice to m-meet you," he mocks a stutter and then laughs at his own joke.

Brittany does not particularly like this man.

At the foot of the stairs Brittany gets her first daylight look at the—now nearly empty—saloon.

It's a wide, open space with high ceilings reaching beyond the second floor. Posts as thick as tree trunks stretch floor to ceiling, spaced out every ten feet or so. Card tables fill the spaces between along with several games of chance. Brittany recognizes the game with a big wheel marked at regular intervals with numbers and colours. She watched several members of her company gambling away their paychecks last night.

Wide, clear windows let in rich morning light and give an open view of the street outside. At one end of the long room is a big mesh cage containing a desk and safe. A sign above indicates that it is the cashier. At the opposite end of the room, with all it's shining glasses and fancy spirit bottles is the bar.

Behind the bar is a slim young man in a finely tailored suit quietly polishing glasses with a white towel. On the other side, cradling a dark drink is a man with greasy, curly hair. He's wearing a worn out vest and apparently talking the barmen's ear off.

A tall woman walks through a door beside the bar and Puck's posture immediately changes.

"Noah Puckermen!" The woman's voice cuts through the quiet in the room. "You better be on your way to my office with payment, or so help me—"

Puck nudges Brittany unnecessarily with her elbow, "Shit. Shelby is gonna string me up. Nice meeting you Brent. Good luck bedding Santana. Believe me when I say that pussy is well worth the trouble. Even if she is crazy as a woman can get."

Puck winks at Brittany but she doesn't see it. All the pieces are suddenly falling into place.

Shelby reaches Brittany's side and crosses her arms with a huff, watching Puck scamper out the door. "I swear that boy will be the death of me. If I hadn't promised his mother I'd look after him I would have sent the boys to collect from him months ago." Shelby looks at Brittany. "Are you okay? Santana tire you out?" she laughs.

Brittany feels her cheeks burn with embarrassment as she finally grasps the implications of all that has been said.

Santana trying to kiss her last night. Santana sleeping on the bed with her. That blonde girl running past her looking so upset. Corcorans isn't just drinks and gambling—as if that wasn't enough—it's a whore house. Brittany doesn't know how she could have missed it. She just didn't want to know. She didn't want to know what Santana really did here. Oh God, the things Santana must have done in this place.

Brittany feels heartsick. She knows that no woman would chose this life. Santana said as much herself: she didn't have a choice. If Brittany hadn't made up lies about her whole life and joined the army, she may have ended up in a place like this too.

And what must Santana have thought when Brittany paid such a price for her room?

She jolts from her worried thoughts when Shelby asks after her again. "Hey boy? Do you need me to call someone? What did that girl do to you? If I find out Noah has been selling opium among my girls I will remove his—"

Brittany finally returns to her senses. "No!" she shouts abruptly. She lowers the tone of her voice and tries to appear calm and normal. "I mean, no it's okay. I'm okay, and there wasn't any opium. I swear, I would tell you if there were."

Shelby nods slowly, peering at Brittany as though she might yet fall down dead–or start babbling like a madman. Brittany gives what she hopes is a winning smile.

Shelby doesn't return the smile, continuing to eye Brittany suspiciously. She eventually starts moving away. "Okay. Then get gone. I don't need you army boys filling up my saloon in day light hours. You've all paid up for your night right?"

Brittany blushes yet again, "Yes Ma'am." she remembers that manners demand compliments to the mistress of any house she stays in. "The curtains were real nice."

Shelby chuckles as she walks back towards the door that must lead to her office. Brittany wonders why everyone keeps laughing at her. She's just trying to be polite.


	4. Health and Purple Wildflowers

AN: Thanks for all the kind words everyone. You guys rock.

Pridemunkeyz: that civil war fic is called White Shadows. It's fantastic and everyone should read it. Believe it or not, I wrote the first two chapters for Best Trick before I read WS. My fic is a later time period but I'm still pretty conscious of trying to avoid any accidental copying.

Now on with the show!

* * *

I listen at the door until Puck's voice recedes down the stairs. I run my fingers over the clasps and laces on my corset, checking that they are definitely still fixed. I run my fingers through my hair in a (most likely futile) attempt to appear collected.

Since Brittany left I've become aware of just how uncomfortable I am. My skin itches under my clothes and my corset feels too binding. The corsets we wear might be of the new fashion but they aren't meant for sleeping in. I long for clean skin and comfortable clothes. For me, only the first is an option so I immediately move(via the staff stairs) to the bathing room on the ground floor.

Two girls look up when I walk in. They're in the thralls of some gossip so I ignore them. I knock my knuckles against the hot water reservoir and here the dull thunk I was hoping for. The tank is full and the water has already been heated.

I start shifting the water from the reservoir to the bathing barrel closest to it with a bucket. I grip the handle and try not to groan at the weight of it.

I can't help but think of Brittany and wonder how she can perform the duties of a soldier. She is tall, noone could deny that and she appeared to be quite strong. The muscles in her long arms were visible enough with only her white undershirt on this morning. I remember feeling tight muscles in her abdomen last night as well. I feel a blush creep up my cheeks. It's ridiculous and I feel incredibly frustrated with my own reactions. Brittany is just a silly woman, who will undoubtedly be found out for her deception sooner rather than later.

With the sixth water bucket I've had enough of heavy lifting. The bath barrel is only half full but it's enough for me to get clean. I shake a few flakes of soap into the barrel and pull a wash cloth from the cabinet against the wall. I strip my clothes and leave them on a chair before moving back to the steaming barrel.

A sigh escapes me as I slip into the hot water. I grab the wash cloth and scrub up my arms. Bless Shelby for her obsession with cleanliness. The hot water Shelby provides for us girls is just another reason she holds my respect. The woman understands what a difference it makes to both the girls and to the business.

The girls in the corner are still gossiping. Their words reach me for the first time in some minutes as I scoop water over me to saturate my hair.

"Shelby says that we only saw a few of them last night. She expects to see a lot more come through tonight." Explains the girl on the left. She's a pale, red haired girl whose name I can't remember.

Her friend(whose name I'd never bothered to learn) nods excitedly, "We could see dozens more tonight. Can you imagine if they stay for a full month like that company last year?"

The first girl giggles. "We could all get our very own soldier boy to look after."

They both look toward me and I scowl back at them.

Apparently the girl—Harmony, that's her name—doesn't understand what my dark glare means because she continues, "You and Quinn can't have all the fun Santana."

Her friend's eyes widen, "Ooh, that's right. Your boy from the bar that was buying you all that whiskey. He bought the whole night didn't he?"

Blue eyes and blonde hair invade my thoughts.

I shrug but Harmony decides to answer for me, "Yes that boy was just smitten for our Kitten."

I glare even harder. The girls had decided that kitten would be an appropriate name for me. Apparently I'm cute enough, just watch out for those claws(the Pussy reference is of course not lost on anyone either).

I've had enough. "There was no Smitten anything, Harmony. Please cease you inane chatter. You and Pale Whale are distracting from precious me time."

I get exactly the reaction I was hoping for when both girls look shocked. Harmony's friend takes a few seconds to realize that she was the pale whale I was referring to. I wait patiently for the cogs to turn and when she finally clicks I give her my most charming smile.

"You can leave now." I give a little wave as both girls exit with a huff.

I laugh once they're gone, satisfied that my reputation as head Bitch will remain intact for another day. I'm sure Shelby will have something to say on the matter. Probably something inane about getting along with the other girls for the sake of business. I'll listen of course. I'll hear her out(nod like I agree) but I'll ignore all of it because I'm me and the girls of this house(with few exceptions) are not worth my time.

The water goes tepid quickly so I wrap myself in a towel, collect my clothes and return to my room.

— — s — b — —

Brittany launches herself past the tree line, chasing after the horse shoe that Lieutenant Anderson has just thrown. The aim of the game is to get to the horseshoe first. She is up against the best. Nine strong men, some of which have even already seen action against the Sioux. Brittany is going to win.

She sprints as hard as she can. Matt will be following closely behind her and Sam will be a few paces behind him. Brittany knows she will beat them both because Anderson threw the horseshoe into the trees. The trees where Brittany gets to dodge and duck, twist and turn her way right to her prize.

She chuckles to herself. This is too easy. An Arabesque here, a Pirouette or a Plié there is more than she needs to get her prize. The boys don't stand a chance.

She's breathing hard when she spots the glimmer of iron. She barely slows down as she bends down to retrieve the horseshoe. She keeps up the pace, using her momentum and balance to run up a felled tree whose trunk is balanced in the groove between the two major branches of another. When Brittany is maybe ten feet above the ground she spins around and takes a seat, her legs dangling either side of the tree trunk.

Matt and Sam stumble to a halt below her breathing hard and clutching at their sides. After Matt catches his breath he scowls up at Brittany and makes a grab for her bare feet(Brittany prefers the feel of the earth under her feet than the heavy soles of her boots).

Matt yells up at her. "How'd you get so fast Pierce? Is your Momma part Race Horse or something?"

Brittany chuckles down at the two boys, twisting to dangle one arm with the horseshoe above their heads. "What's wrong Matty? You part dairy cow, since you can't get your feet off the ground?"

Sam bursts out laughing, slapping his knee as he watches Matt making leaps off the ground and attempting to snag the iron prize.

There's a loud rustling and the seven other men all come barreling through the trees. They glance at Matt and Sam before looking up at Brittany. Some laugh, some groan and some even curse loudly. A few are thoroughly displeased that the strange boy who can't even grow a spec of chin fluff has yet again won the prize. They're wondering what Pierce has been doing with the bonuses in his pay. Undoubtedly something boring and womanish.

Brittany lets out a tiny yelp when the branch she is lying on shifts beneath her. A giant of a man named Karofsky is trying to scramble up after Brittany. She can't believe he would try to take her prize away. She won fair and square. Why would they try and take this from her? It's so dishonest and mean.

Brittany wraps her arms around the branch as Karofsy gives up trying to climb up the trunk in his heavy boots and settles for kicking it instead. He's trying to force the whole thing to the ground. Some of the others are cheering him on, some just sitting back and watching.

Just as Brittany realises that Sam has disappeared, he returns. Lieutenant Anderson follows closely behind him and Brittany is filled with relief. Karofsky would have claimed the prize as his own if he'd gotten his hands on her. Now that Anderson can see the prize in her hand Karofsky won't get the chance.

Karofsky steps back from the branch when he spots the Lieutenant and stands at attention to salute with the other soldiers. Brittany releases her strangle hold on the branch. She lets her arm with the horseshoe drop and swing down beside her. Anderson looks up at her with an amused expression. Brittany leans up and rearranges herself, tucking the shoe into her belt. She glances at the ground, judging the distance. It's a little high even for her so she shuffles back a little before swinging her legs over and falling lightly to the ground. Her bare feet land with a dull thud as she bends her knees to best absorb the impact. Her arms are held out from her body to maintain an element of balance. Lieutenant Anderson's expression seems to grow even more amused as a smirk grows at the corner of his mouth. Brittany drops her arms and does her best impression of Karofsky, squaring her shoulders and chin. She keeps her movements stiff and masculine as she stands to attention and offers her Lieutenant a salute. Unfortunately she's still holding the horseshoe in her right hand. Lieutenant Anderson laughs but gives his own salute. Brittany takes a step towards her Lieutenant and holds out her prize.

Anderson takes the piece of metal so he can shake her hand in congratulations. Brittany fights her grin. She doesn't want the other men to feel bad because she won(again). She would even share her winnings. She would gladly buy the men some whiskey to drink in town. Unfortunately the other men don't seem to like taking anything from her. She assumes that they might feel bad about picking on her if they actually liked her and took gifts from her—so they just don't. They prefer to tease her for her slight frame and young looking face. Sam is the only one who doesn't treat her like she's a P.T. Barnum curiosity disguised as a soldier. Brittany is exceedingly glad for Sam. He is her favorite non-brother ever. She'll gladly share every horseshoe prize with him.

Lieutenant Anderson dismisses the other men—Karofsky and a few others are sure to give her shoulder a hard bump on their way out. Brittany would like to think of these bumps as friendly but she can't really un-see the hostile glances thrown her way. Sergeant Anderson nods his head for Brittany to follow him. She usually gets her prize with her pay packet but she won't object if he wants to give it to her early. She thinks of Santana when calculating what she could buy with those winnings.

Sam steps up beside her as Brittany starts walking. He gives her a hearty pat on the back and Brittany tries not to wince. She knocks her knuckles hard against his shoulder. Sometimes men just get a little too excited about things and like to knock the wind out of each other. She's getting better at both receiving and sharing these exuberant responses.

They pass between the mess tent and the fire pit at the edge of camp. There are rows of white soldier tents to the right and a number of supply and work tents ahead of them. Sergeant Anderson seems to be leading them towards his own tent just a few rows in.

"What's the occasion Lieutenant?" Brittany asks.

With Lieutenant Anderson it could be anything. He has a lot of what the older soldiers call 'fancy ideas'. There's been changes to command and how they train. Brittany doesn't really understand any of it. She just knows that she spends a lot of time running and climbing over or under things.

Anderson stops in front of a large tent. His name is written on a board hanging against the canvas. No other officers' tents have names attached. Brittany shares a look with Sam. This must be another one of the Lieutenant's fancy ideas. Sam hangs back, obviously realizing that he wasn't actually invited. Brittany sketches a loose wave and Sam jogs off toward the rows of soldiers' tents.

Lieutenant Anderson leads the way into his tent, holding back the flaps for Brittany to enter. She steps inside the dark tent, blinking rapidly, adjusting to the lack of light. Lieutenant Anderson moves to a desk where an oil lamp sits, unlit. He shuffles the papers on the desk around until he finds what he's looking for; he strikes a match with quick, sure movements lighting the wick and adjusting the nobs on the lamp until a comfortable glow fills the space.

Brittany looks around, still confused as to why she's here. She's never been invited into any other soldier's tent before, let alone an officer's private quarters. There'a a cot against the wall opposite the desk and a neat little table with two chairs in between. Crates are stacked against the wall opposite the entrance. Brittany hasn't the slightest idea what they could contain and she knows better than to ask.

Anderson approaches three of the crates that are about four feet long stacked on top of one another. The top side of the topmost crate has already been pried open and pushed aside. Brittany tilts forward, on the balls of her feet to see what's inside. She's almost disappointed when all that's in there is three large leather balls surrounded by straw. She eyes them curiously. They're too big for any sport she's aware of and remind her most of a juggler she'd seen once. They're far too big for a normal person to juggle though.

"Is a giant joining the company?" she asks excited, tacking the obligatory "Lieutenant," at the end for good measure. She'd heard stories of the circuses in Europe that had people as big as houses. A person big as a house could juggle the balls in that crate.

Lieutenant Anderson looks at her like he's trying to figure out if she's joking. "No…" He draws out the 'o' sound. "They're for health Pierce."

For health. Brittany has heard her Lieutenant use this word a lot, especially when he's about to make the men do something exhausting. She doesn't particularly like the word anymore so she scrunches up her nose in apparent confusion. "But won't they just catch fire? And then soot will go everywhere if they bust."

Anderson looks appropriately bemused. He blinks a few times until he finally realises what she means(it's one of the things Brittany really likes about Lieutenant Anderson: he always at least tries to understand).

"No, not hearth Pierce," he says with a smile. "Health. These are medicine balls and you work with them to gain strength. These are going to help your health and if they do what they're supposed to you'll actually have some meat on your bones by the end of the month."

Brittany eyes the leather spheres curiously. "How are they gonna do that Lieutenant? And I already have meat on my bones. Look." she pinches together the skin over her bicep as evidence.

Lieutenant Anderson shakes his head and lifts one of the medicine balls from its bed of straw. He holds it with two hands in front of his chest. The ball is a little smaller than the space between his shoulders. Brittany automatically shifts her weight and braces herself to catch it.

Anderson Looks straight at Brittany. "You ready for this Pierce?"

She smirks. Of course she can catch a leather ball tossed from five feet away.

...

Or maybe she can't.

Brittany lies on the ground gasping for air and struggling to fill what she knows must be flattened lungs.

"What—" she gasps out, rolling the crushing ball to one side(she did catch it). "What is that thing?" her voice is croaky and she can't catch her breath.

Anderson laughs, holding his hand out for Brittany to take. She shakes her head, convinced that her Lieutenant just tried to kill her. She draws her knees up and curls up on her side.

"Why would you throw that at me? It has to weigh twenty pounds," her voice is slowly returning and she's starting to get real air back into her lungs.

Anderson just laughs even harder. "Come on Pierce, you'll have learn to take a hit better than that."

He offers his hand again and this time Brittany can unfold enough to take it. Anderson drags Brittany to her feet then promptly beats the grass from her back with one hand.

"Fuck Lieutenant. Are you still going to say this is for my health?" Brittany exclaims, rubbing at her chest. She's proud of herself when the curse word slips out without a stutter. The men had decides that Brittany's polite turn of phrase was another thing they could tease her about. She had taken to practicing her curse words when she went to bathe.

Luckily this camp on the edge of Clothier is just a short distance from a creek so Brittany is able to sneak away for a bath quite easily. The bathing tubs that the rest of the men use to get clean are too dangerous for her, even in the middle of the night. As much as she has taken a certain liking for dressing and acting like a man, she doesn't particularly enjoy smelling like one.

The last town that the company stopped in had no creek, lake or even dam for miles of the camp. Brittany was sure she stank to high heaven by the time they reached Clothier. Her first real bath(with soap and a proper drenching) in over a week was the afternoon they arrived. Brittany snuck away as soon as she had an opportunity.

Sam dragged her into town straight after of course. The boys wanted to get to Corcorans and Brittany was just glad to be included(even if Sam was the only one doing the including). Brittany had lost Sam to a card table as soon as they arrived. She might have been sore at Sam for that. She might have been, but Brittany went to the bar and she met Santana.

Going by the smirk on Lieutenant Anderson'a face, Brittany thinks she must be grinning. She's been told off a few times since breakfast for smiling like a loon. Every time is because her thoughts have strayed to a beautiful brunette with sad eyes. Brittany knows she wants to see more of her. She's addicted to that smile. She hadn't expected it when first approaching the bar. Santana had looked so angry. Angry with the bar, the men and even the glasses she polished. Brittany wouldn't have guessed that she could make her smile at all; Yet all it took to see a grin was a request for sarsparilla. A bottle of whiskey and a few stories kept the smile there for the rest of the night.

Lieutenant Anderson coughs into his fist to regain Brittany's attention. She's grinning again.

— — s — b — —

I still don't know how I got here, scrambling up a dirt track on the way to the company camp. An over excited Sugar is chatting with Mercedes ahead of me and Quinn is by my side. Another half dozen girls are trailing further behind us.

Quinn looks sideways at me as if she knows I want to turn to go back home. She is the one that convinced me to come out in all the heat and dust to watch a bunch of sweaty men play at war. I still don't know how she did that. I'm convinced that she must be some kind of gypsy witch and she has turned her dark powers on me.

Mercedes looks back at us. "Come on Santana. This is supposed to be fun; stop lookin so dour."

I huff and cross my arms. "I'm here aren't I?"

Quinn shoots me a glare and I poke my tongue out at her in a sudden bout of petulance. Quinn responds by rolling her eyes and walking a little faster so she can link arms with Mercedes. I count it as a victory.

Sugar gives a little cheer when we come over a low ridge and spot the first rows of little white tents. The white city is set up between the eastern edge of Clothier and—the imaginatively named—Clothier Creek. The camp itself is actually quite impressive. It suddenly appeared in what was an empty field of grass yesterday, and is already buzzing with activity. Sugar leads us around the edge of camp to an open expanse of grass and mud where around fifty soldiers are jumping up and down. I can't decide whether they look ridiculous or impressive in their columns and rows all jumping and throwing their arms up in unison.

I can't see Brittany and it occurs to me for the first time that maybe she isn't a full soldier after all. It would make sense if she was a cook or something less intensive.

We cross inconspicuously to the other side of the field where a low hill will give us the best view of the soldiers' training. Mercedes and Sugar unfold the blanket they brought for us to sit on and we settle ourselves, rearranging our skirts around us.

At some signal that I apparently missed, the rows of soldiers have stopped their jumping and dropped to the ground. They lie on their backs with their knees bent and their hands supporting their heads. They're moving in unison again; this time their repetitive motion is to move their upper bodies from a prone position until they are almost perpendicular to the ground. Essentially, they are sitting up then lying down then sitting up again. And again.

"What are they doing?" I can't keep it to myself any longer. "They look ridiculous."

Sugar giggles. "Ridiculously wonderful you mean." she gestures to the nearest row of soldiers. "Look at their arms."

I look over the soldiers and see tense muscles and sweat soaked backs. They're certainly working hard. And it is somewhat impressive.

"Alright, that'll do." A man calls after some fifty sit-up-lie-down's. "Take a lap. Pierce, you're with me.

I don't need the excited slap that Sugar gives my leg to turn my attention to the blonde soldier making her way towards her lieutenant.

Apparently there were only three soldiers who paid for rooms last night so everyone already knew their names as well as the girls who had them. Sugar has already decided that she wants her very own soldier. When I refused to give her any details about my night with Private Pierce she was all the more intrigued.

I slap her hand away but keep my eyes trained on Brittany. She was in with all the other soldiers after all. Her shirt sleeves are rolled up and I can see, even from my place on the grass that she has a sheen of sweat across her face and arms. I wonder why she's been pulled aside. I can see the other men jogging off out of the corner of my eye. Was she not fast enough? Not strong enough? I didn't even see her among the other soldiers until she was called out from the group.

When I see the Lieutenant smile widely and Brittany grin in return my whole posture relaxes. I hadn't even realized that I was sitting up so straight and tense until she smiled and my shoulders loosened. My eyes drop to my lap and I command my body to stop all this nervous nonsense.

— — s — b — —

Brittany resists the urge to shove at Lieutenant Anderson's shoulder. It's what she would do to Sam if he had teased her like her Lieutenant is doing. She turns from him instead, approaching the long crate containing the medicine balls. Anderson knows that she's fast but he wants Brittany working on her strength. That's why she's been held back. She's not the only skinny looking soldier in the company but it seems that Lieutenant Anderson has taken a shine to her. He's seen the way the men treat Private Pierce and wants to help. It's really quite sweet.

Brittany kneels beside the crate to slip her hands through the straw and under the heavy medicine ball. She heaves the first one out and holds it against her chest as she stands. When she turns back towards the Lieutenant she almost drops the ball.

On the opposite side of the training field is a mass of girls watching her. There are maybe a dozen girls all in pretty white and coloured dresses but one stands out from the rest. Her hair is loose around he shoulder and shining in the sun. She's wearing a black dress with red ribbon along the low neckline and a red sash around her waist. She's arguing with a pretty blonde girl beside her but she turns back to Brittany as though she can feel her looking.

Their eyes meet and Brittany can feel a flush of colour in her cheeks. Dark eyes are burning through her and Brittany feels like Santana is wielding some magic against her. Coiling a heated wire around her heart and squeezing it tight. She wants to reach Santana, to make her smile again.

Brittany holds the dark gaze despite the heat coiled in her chest. When a hand claps down on her shoulder she jolts and Santana's gaze finally drops. Brittany turns to her Lieutenant. He's watching her with curious eyes. Brittany blushes even harder, suddenly finding her boots infinitely interesting. When she's brave enough to look up again Anderson is looking between her and the girls on the grass. He's putting the pieces together. Santana is glaring daggers into her friends who are all laughing and teasing her.

Lieutenant Anderson looks down with a disappointed looking frown, pulling his hand away from Brittany's shoulder. "You've taken an interest in one of Corcoran's girls." It's a statement not a question and Brittany feels like she has let him down in some way.

Before she can offer any kind of excuse he takes the medicine ball from her arms and takes a few steps backward. "Now i'm gonna throw this at you again Pierce, and this time you'll stay on your feet."

— — s — b — —

I have terrible friends. These girls I share a room with have no boundaries, no discretion and absolutely no concept of privacy. They also haven't a clue. They think I've been charmed by some boy(as if I would be so gullible). They're looking between the two of us and giggling like children.

When Brittany looked up at me I just wanted to prove how little effect she had on me. These silly girls I(for some reason) surround myself with broke my concentration. I feel short changed. Even though Brittany seemed(even at a distance) to be a blushing mess she held my eyes and refused to look away first.

Now the Lieutenant is back to training with Pierce there is nothing to do but watch. They're throwing that ball around between them. It must be heavy and the strain is showing in the necks and arms of both soldiers. Brittany catches the ball one more time then holds it to her chest, nodding along to something her Lieutenant is saying. She proceeds to lie back down on the ground and perform more of those sit up exercises, this time with the ball held to her cheat. I can't imagine the strain it must be putting on her body.

I've lost track of the conversation happening around me. Mercedes and Sugar are gossiping as usual and Quinn is humming quietly to herself, lying on her back and looking at the clouds. I watch Brittany.

The sit ups progress to a strange standing hunch maneuver and then to an alternating pattern of twists, leans and stretches. The way Brittany moves with the ball is so much like a dance. It's almost beautiful.

A flurry of movement among the other girls brings me back to myself. They're giggling and pointing towards the head of the trail where the men are returning from their run. They're all out of breath, many clutching stitches at their sides. Some are shooting glares at Brittany where she is standing with the ball tucked into her hip talking with the Lieutenant.

Brittany is dismissed and the Lieutenant calls to the rest of the men, "Okay boys take a break and grab some water. We'll move on in five minutes."

Brittany places the ball back in its crate and turns immediately towards the tree line. I don't know what has caught her attention but she moves forward with purpose. She disappears behind a large tree and reappears a few moments later on the other side. She's holding one arm behind her back and wearing a devious smirk. She looks up at me and I instantly become still. She walks determinedly toward me and stops just a few feet from the blanket.

"Miss Santana," Brittany says with a nod and nudge of her knuckle to the bill of her cap. She nods and smiles at the rest of the girls before settling her eyes back on mine.

I wait for some sign of her intentions. I don't understand why she would want to come over here. Shouldn't she be finding some water right about now?

She rocks back and forth onto the balls of her feet a few times, her eyes finding the dirt one more time. Suddenly a bundle of small purple flowers are thrust towards me. They're a wildflower that grows quite prevalent in the woods behind her. I take them Without thinking. They're very pretty in a small bunch as they are. The delicate petals shift slightly in the breeze.

She grins. "I saw them while I was chasing a horseshoe this morning," she explains, her eyes shifting up as though the words are written on the bill of her cap. "I thought of you because they're pretty and they grow wherever they want to." she says it all so matter of factly that there is no argument I can make as her eyes shift back to me. She looks over my face and my hair. "And now I can add that they and you both look beautiful in sunshine." she nods one more time before spinning around on her toes and walking away.

I watch her move back towards the men and I'm sure my mouth is hanging open.

It snaps shut when Sugar's giggles reach me, "Oh my God, you actually like him," she exclaims.

I automatically shoot her a glare even as I run my fingertips over the delicate petals of my flowers. "No. I don't. And shut up about it before I end your time on this earth abruptly." I look over at Brittany who is joking around with a tall blonde boy. "He's a whelp," I shrug.

Sugar won't be deterred. "But Puck used to try and bring you things all the time and you've never accepted so much as a piece of paper from him before." Sugar is looking at you with genuine curiosity now, not a hint of teasing.

You just glare at her. "No Sugar. Just No."

She doesn't take the hint. "Fine. If you're so put off by the boy then I'll take the flowers. He is pretty cute in a knocked-on-the-head farm-hand kind of way."

I automatically clutch the flowers to my chest. "No." I almost shout before recovering myself. "I mean, Shelby has told us to play nice with the Soldier boys and if that means accepting some dirty weeds as a gift so be it."

I wonder if I have anything in my room that could work as a vase.

Sugar continues, "Please Santana, you've never done anything just because Shelby told us to." Quinn is now nodding along in agreement with Sugar.

I think my flowers will look nice in a simple vessel of some kind. Maybe I can put them in an old green glass bottle. The soft leaves still joined to the stem will help the flowers balance. I carefully stroke one fingertip across the delicate patterns in one leaf.

I look over to Brittany who is already back to training with the other soldiers. She glances toward me and smiles. I automatically raise my hand to wave. She grins so broadly that I can't help but smile back. The flowers are still pressed against my chest and I breath in the delicate perfume. I think they'll look nice on our windowsill.

Quinn laughs loudly and the hand that is still raised in a loose wave(Brittany isn't watching anymore anyway) drops back to my lap. I feel my cheeks go red and I can't decide who to glare at first because Sugar, Quinn and Mercedes are all looking at me like I am the most precious thing.

Quinn shakes her head at me. "Oh sweetie." She sounds caught between exasperation and genuine amusement.

I want to hate them all, including Brittany Pierce and her perfect gift.


	5. Conversations

AN: thanks as always for the reviews. Especially you guys that took extra time on long reviews. They make me happy.

This chapter has some switching perspectives. I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

Quinn likes to think that she has an understanding of the way that people work. She may have been called self centred and cold(among other less polite things) in the past but she sees people. Quinn likes to watch behaviour. She likes to read and understand things. When some thing(or person) eludes her understanding it is extremely frustrating. Mercedes and Sugar are simple enough. Most of the girls Quinn bothers to turn her attention to are easy to understand. Their motives are usually pretty simple and their behaviour, whether good or bad usually has some rational to it.

Santana Lopez is the exception. She is an infuriatingly difficult person to understand and aggravates Quinn beyond reason. She can shift from disdaining sneers to light smiles to unbridled rage in moments. She takes her work at Corcoran's incredibly seriously, even taking pride in it, yet she sneers at any of the other girls who would take enjoyment from their work. She is proud, angry and impossible to manipulate.

Quinn never seems to understand her motivations. She has never seen Santana expose her emotions for others to see. She has never shown any emotional attachment to a single Trick or prospector yet suddenly and without explanation Santana has become immediately and transparently charmed by a young soldier. A Trick no less who couldn't be any older than eighteen.

Quinn tries to concentrate on her sewing even as she discreetly watches Santana shift a short green bottle from one side of her window to the other. The room that Santana and Quinn share with Sugar and Mercedes has only one window and it is directly above Santana's bed. Now Santana is taking full advantage of its placement.

Santana shifts back from the window to sit down on Quinn's bed. She tilts her head to one side with a calculating expression, judging how the window, her bed and flowers look together. She huffs before jumping forward and pushing the bottle back into the middle of the sill.

Quinn has had enough. "Would you please stop." she yells in frustration. "You've put it in every possible position at least three times already."

The blush that floods Santana's cheeks is instant and noticeable even under her darker complexion. She pretends to ignore Quinn, leaning forward to shift the flowers back to the left hand side of the window and twisting it so the flowers are presenting the best face to the room. Quinn can't help the groan that escapes her when Santana leans back towards the flowers. Santana finally stops, making a show of throwing her hands up and stepping away from the window.

"I'm done, I swear." she says, looking over her shoulder at Quinn who is attempting to sew up a tear in her underskirt. Santana continues, "I'm just trying to bring a little colour into the room Quinn. Is that so bad?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Please Santana. Colour? More like bringing a little of Private Pierce into the room." She gives up on her sewing, allowing the needle and thread to fall to her lap. "Would you just admit that you are enamoured with that boy." She has been needling at Santana since they left the Soldiers to their training and returned to the house.

Quinn rolls her eyes at the sneer that Santana tries to pull into her features. Santana can deny her affection for the boy all she wants but she reveals herself every time someone asks. Whenever anyone so much as mentions the young soldier's name Santana lights up from the inside out. Her eyes soften and brighten; it's truly a peculiar thing to see in the midst of a Santana-death-glare.

— s — — b —

Brittany has that grin on her face again. She can feel it. Ever since she picked those pretty purple flowers and Santana actually took them from her. Santana didn't even hesitate and it was all Brittany could do to keep from skipping back to the Lieutenant. Brittany can't even really remember what she said as she handed over the flowers. All she can remember is that Santana blushed so prettily and smiled so brightly that Brittany thought she would die from the sweetness of it.

Brittany giggles to herself but immediately claps her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. She looks all around to see if anyone was in ear shot. She needs to be more careful to remember herself. Men don't giggle. Brittany knows well enough that any man caught in anything so womanish as giggling would be ridiculed relentlessly.

Brittany has suffered through enough name calling and intentional shoulder checks already. If she keeps accidentally giggling and blushing like a little girl then she'll surely end up in a lot more trouble. Karofsky and a few others already hate her for winning so many of Lieutenant Anderson's 'friendly' competitions. She doesn't need to give them any more excuses to beat the stuffing out of her.

Brittany squares her shoulders again and clears her throat. She hums a single note to check the register of her voice. Satisfied that she has settled back into a lower key she starts humming a tune. It's an old work song that her father used to sing around the house. It has such a simple melody and steady rhythm that Brittany finds herself humming it throughout all of her most mundane tasks.

Shifting flour, fruit and vegetables from the back of a cart to the mess tent definitely classifies as a mundane activity. It's both monotonous and backbreaking.

Lieutenant Anderson set her the task and Brittany knows why. He's on a mission to bulk up her body into something more rugged. Brittany thinks it's sweet that her Lieutenant cares enough to try and help her. It's almost a shame that Brittany will never be able to become broad shouldered and compactly muscled as a soldier like Sam is. It just isn't something that she has a choice in.

She is getting strong though.

In her old life—before the army—it was important for her to be light. She was strong but lithe, her muscles trained for strength, force and flexibility. Little of her dance training prepared her for hefting fifty pound bags of potatoes across her shoulders. She shifts the one on her shoulder into a better position. She's going to be so sore tomorrow but Anderson always says that the pain just means that she's growing bigger and stronger muscles. That is to say, Brent would be growing bigger muscles. Brittany knows with all the work she's been doing that Brent would be getting heavier. She could imagine that male version of herself getting some of that bulky muscle around his shoulders and arms.

Unfortunately Brittany can't do that. All the extra work just has her sweating away what little fleshiness she had left. Her whole body—arms,shoulders, torso, thighs—are just building up this wiry, tight muscle that only becomes visible under strain.

She'll have to remember to keep her arms tensed next time she walks past Lieutenant Anderson. With any luck, the illusion of bulk will be effective enough.

— s — — b —

I glare at Quinn but my expression just seems to make her more amused with me. She thinks this silly notion about Brittany and myself is just so entertaining. I wish everyone would just drop it. Maybe if I start ignoring anyone who talks about Brittany, they will get bored and leave me alone.

Quinn is like a dog with a bone though. "The flowers are just one thing. Do you have any idea what you look like anytime someone even mentions Pierce?"

"I don't take every opportunity to stare into reflective surfaces like you do Quinn, so no."

Quinn ignores my jab, "Fine, if you're just going to deflect then I'll drop it."

"Finally, you're seeing sense." I dig into the sewing kit in front of Quinn and take out a needle and black thread. Quinn and I have the afternoon to ourselves which means this is the best time to get the tedious repairs on skirts and underclothes finished. I hate sewing but the hem on my black dress is starting to come loose after our trip to the Company camp earlier.

Quinn clears her throat and looks at me expectantly. I ask her what she wants now.

"Even if you aren't interested, which I don't believe for a second," she holds up one hand to stop me interrupting. "Even if you don't care about him, it doesn't change the fact that he is completely in love with you."

I roll my eyes. "Don't exaggerate. It's really not attractive."

"Fine, maybe not in love but he is sweet on you." Her expression goes from accusatory to curious in a flash(I will never understand Quinn Fabray). "What did Pierce mean when he said he was chasing horseshoes?"

I don't know what that meant either but Brittany speaks to me in such an upfront way with no hidden agenda; I can only assume that she meant exactly what she said. She was chasing horseshoes.

I shrug in reply, "Maybe they were competing in a game or something. Remember that Regiment last spring that ran laps around the whole of Clothier for a day of paid leave?" Something new occurs to me. "Shelby said that Pierce paid for his night in full already right?"

Quinn nods, "Yeah, he didn't even try to open an account. Why?

"Well, think about it. How come Pierce could pay for all that when every other soldier is apparently waiting for their next pay to visit us?"

"I don't know? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, obviously Brent has access to more cash than the other soldiers. And if he is chasing horseshoes for extra pay packets then—" I cut myself off, looking at Quinn's expressions. "What?" I ask, feeling a blush I don't understand heat my face.

Quinn smirks with one eyebrow raised, "I didn't know his name is Brent." She shakes her head. "This is all beside the point. He's sweet on you and you know how that can cause problems. If he turns out to be the jealous type…" she trails off.

"Then what?" I ask. "Am I supposed to refuse a Trick who actually pays his bills?"

"The house won't refuse him obviously, but maybe we can give him to one of the other girls. Even—"

"No. I don't want—" my mouth just says what it wants sometimes. "I mean, if you think he's sweet on me then why would he want to be with someone else?"

I won't think of what it would mean if Brittany asked for someone else. I'm sure it's just my pride that pulls a tense feeling in my chest. The thought of Brittany with one of the other girls makes me feel disgruntled and anxious. It's a ridiculous notion anyway. Brittany can't risk her secret getting out. If she spent a night with one of the other girls like she did with me…

I realise this whole conversation is pointless. Brittany is dressed like a man and she has developed the knack for acting like one(mostly) but she is still a woman. Women don't pay to bed other women. Brittany isn't sweet on me.

I glance at my flowers. My infernal pride tugs at that something in my chest again. I feel like I'm missing something.

Quinn nudges at my shoulder and I realise she asked me a question. "What will you do if he interferes with other Tricks? We all have a job to do and no girl is exclusive. He needs to understand that."

I don't have an answer. Brittany won't be coming back, no matter what Quinn thinks is true(I can't hope it's true). I lean forward one more time and can almost feel Quinn rolling her eyes when I shift my flowers back to the middle of the windowsill.

— s — — b —

Sam throws another potato into the barrel. How he ended up on duty in the Mess again he'll never know. It's the most boring activity he can imagine. The only thing that makes it a little easier is the ray of sunshine that is Brent Pierce. Sam doesn't know how he can be so happy all the time but he reckons that a girl is behind it.

Rumour has it that Brent bought a night with one of the girls at Corcorans. Sam would never have guessed his shy(and sometimes awkward) friend would do something like that but it must be true. The girl that Brent gave flowers to at training was with a flock of Corcoran's girls; The way Brent has spent the past hour grinning like a fool must mean something.

Sam hears Brent's humming before he sees the man himself. He strides into the room with yet another bag of potatoes on his shoulder and a light skip in his step.

"How goes the potatoes Sam?" He asks dropping the heavy bag on top of the others

Sam shrugs. "Well the peeled barrel is a little more full than the dirty pile so I guess I'm getting there." He watches Brent sit down, rubbing at his shoulders. "So I'm sorry I didn't end up having a drink with you last night."

Brent shrugs. "It doesn't matter. I had a great time anyway."

Sam nods. "Yeah, I heard you bought a room for the night."

Brent blushes a bright red. "I did but," he lowers his voice and leans closer to Sam. "I didn't actually," He gestures his hand vaguely as the tips of his ears burn red. "I didn't know what I was buying, you know. Santana and me just talked a lot and she fell asleep next to me. She's even pretty when she sleeps." He mumbles the last sentence but Sam still hears it.

Sam can hardly believe how naive Brent can be sometimes. "So she didn't even, umm with hands err." it's Sam's turn to feel the blush in his face as he tries to ask his questions without saying the actual words.

Brent doesn't seem to really grasp what Sam is asking but he shakes his head and says with a smile, "She was just really sweet."

Sam isn't sure how to feel about this. Brent says they didn't do anything that should send him to a confessional but he's obviously sweet on this girl.

"She's someone special to you then?" He asks, looking to the potato in his hands then back to Brent.

Brent nods but then shakes his head and then shrugs. "I mean she is special and I want to be friendly, you know?"

Sam doesn't know. "You want to be friendly? Would you court her?"

Brent is practically radiating heat. Sam can only guess that his friend is embarrassed.

"I don't think I'm right for her Sam." Brent explains. "She deserves more than I can give her."

Sam is honestly confused. "You think she is too good for you? She might not have done anything with you but she's still a whore, it's not like you can—" He's cut off when Brent jumps aggressively to his feet.

"Don't call her that." Brent has his hands squeezed into fists at his side and Sam stands up quickly.

"Whoa, Brent. I didn't mean anything," He raises his hands defensively. The peeling knife is still in his hand but he drops it quickly into his bag of unpeeled potatoes. Out of sight, out of mind.

Brent glares accusingly at Sam. "You did mean it. You called her a—a…" He trails off as though the word were too awful to say out loud. He continues. "You don't even know her at all."

Sam keeps his hands raised, palms outward when he says quietly, "I don't know her but she is exactly what I said Brent. I'm sorry but you know it's true."

Brent shakes his head but Sam can see the doubt in his eyes. They stand in silence with Brent glaring at Sam for a few tense moments. Finally Brent softens and lets his hands relax. A small smile returns to his face. "Maybe she does a job that some people might put her down for. She's more than that though. She doesn't even see how much she's worth." Brent's smile grows as he thinks of his girl.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief and then a light chuckle. "Are you sure you won't be courting her?" Sam was worried Brent was gonna punch him for a moment there. He's seen what the man can do to a forty pound bag of potatoes.

Brent shakes his head. "No Sam, I'm not going to court her."

— s — — b —

AN: obviously this was a short chapter. I Hope you can forgive me. I have so many ideas and not as much time to get them down as I would like.


	6. My Feet Are Too Far Away

"I really don't think he'll be a problem." I try to convince Quinn to see this my way. I almost wish I could just tell her everything. If she just knew who 'Brent' really was, it would be just as clear to her as it is to me. "He's just a nice boy." I think about the gentle girl who held me in her arms while I cried into her chest. I was unbelievably drunk and in that awful, weepy temper that sometimes effects me when intoxicated.

I look to the flowers on my window. "He's gentle. Caring even." I fiddle with the loose thread on my skirt, thinking of the blush that spread all the way to the tips of her ears when she offered to kiss me. "Practically a blushing mess—"

"So you deflowered the boy?" Shelby's sharp voice makes me jump and I accidentally stab myself with the sewing needle. "Is Quinn right?" Shelby continues, leaning against the doorframe. "If he gets possessive, that could be a problem."

I resist the urge to growl a response. "I didn't deflower anybody," I say defensively before amending. "Lately. Look, I'll let you know how this is going to go, if I may?" I look between both women. "Brent is harmless. He'll go on his merry way and never come back here for anything more than drinks and cards."

"Are you saying he didn't find our hospitality satisfactory?" Shelby asks. I blush at the insinuation, my pride instantly balking at the suggestion that I didn't do my job properly. I also curse my own idiocy. I let Shelby talk me into a corner and she knows it.

"Fine," I huff. "He didn't mean to pay for a fuck, okay?" chagrin makes my language harsher than usual. "He thought he was going to pay all that money for a room. I got so far as a hand job which he was perfectly grateful for thank you very fucking much." I stare straight at Shelby throughout my lie knowing that Quinn will probably see through it if she can see my face properly.

Shelby seems to accept the lie and even gives a chuckle. "He did seem a little simple."

I'd come to the same conclusion myself but I still don't like the way she says that about Brittany. "He's not simple. He just thinks a little differently." My mouth runs away from me again.

Quinn and Shelby stare at me like I've lost my mind. "What?" I ask, feeling like I'm going in a loop.

Shelby looks to Quinn for an answer. "Did she get knocked on the head on your way back here?"

Quinn gestures towards my flowers, "Pierce gave her flowers when we went to watch them training and she's been like this," she gestures to my entire person. "Since we got back."

Shelby eyes me speculatively, "Well, in any case if he comes back looking for more than whiskey and games of chance be sure he knows the rules."

I'm sick of my damn mouth so I keep my jaw clamped shut as I nod.

Shelby seems satisfied with my response, "Good," she says simply. "Get yourselves ready. You two are seeing Dr Beiste this afternoon. The two girls who were scheduled to see him are on dish duty instead."

"I really dislike that man." I say of the Doctor, my eyes focus back on my work pushing the needle and thread though my dark skirt.

Quinn scoffs. "Please, you love him."

"He's completely mad," I say glaring at the black thread daring it to tangle or snag.

"Which is what you love about him most."

"He speaks in nonsense riddles," I add.

"Enough," Shelby cuts into our argument before Quinn can respond. "You're going. Whether or not you like Beiste is irrelevant. I need you girls healthy. Puck has all but booked you out for the week Quinn."

Quinn's face falls. Puck is an alright Trick really. Quinn has just had a hard time of it since she gave up the baby. Puck was never told the child was his. I can only imagine what Quinn must feel being with Puck. I've never reached full term before.

Quinn's eyes reach mine and I hope she can see the sympathy I feel for her. She gives me a small wry smile.

If Shelby sees our exchange she doesn't say anything about it as she turns to leave. "You too Santana. Whatever you say about it, Sugar certainly thinks I should expect to see more of your soldier."

Of course Sugar has been in Shelby's ear. "He's not my anything." I say automatically. "He won't be back. And Sugar needs to learn to keep her mouth shut."

"We'll that's definitely true." Quinn nods.

Shelby turns to Quinn. "You don't think Pierce will be back either?".

Quinn shakes her head in the negative, "Oh no, he'll be back," she gives me a pointed look. "I meant that Sugar needs to keep her mouth shut."

Shelby walks back out the room, saying over her shoulder, "Don't be late for Beiste or you'll be taking over dish duty for the rest of the week."

Quinn and I look at each other before throwing our sewing aside and rushing to get ourselves presentable.

— s — — b —

Blaine never imagined he would see Brent and Private Evans at odds. They seem close as brothers and endlessly loyal to one another. Yet all it takes is the wrong words turned against that girl of Shelby's and Brent seems ready to wreck Sam's face.

Another thing Blaine never imagined was the possibility that he would have to watch the two men argue and pretend he isn't there. Eaves dropping is not something he is comfortable with, nor is the idea of watching two friends get into a violent scuffle over a girl. Unfortunately the woman currently in his duty of care has demanded he not interfere.

Major Hudson's wife is a loud, demanding, impossible woman with far too much control over the men around her. Rachel Hudson fancies herself an observer of people and for some unfathomable reason wants to be an author. She wants to document the military in all its subtle intricacies and quiet beauty(her words, not Blaine's). So they watch from the shadows as Brent and Evens argue in quiet, angry tones.

When Brent's shoulders relax and his fists loosen at his side, Blaine feels his own posture relax. He looks down at Mrs Hudson who's eyes are shining with delight at what is unfolding in front of them.

— s — — b —

Rachel watches with rapt attention as the two young men discuss what she assumes is one of their lady loves. The younger(and skinnier) of the two holds an angry posture as he defends the honour of the woman he must surely be in love with. This boy names the other Sam. Sam seems to want only what is best for his friend but is expressing himself very poorly. Rachel longs to go in and discuss this with both of them but is loathe to interrupt this fascinating moment of military kinship.

Her own husband seems to relate with only a few of his fellow soldiers and the interactions that Rachel witnesses rarely hold the emotional depth or intensity she is seeing in this darkened mess tent. She thinks of her notebook tucked under the pillow of her cot. The notes on this encounter will surely run for four, maybe five pages.

Rachel claps a hand to her mouth when the boy tells Sam how his love doesn't see her own worth. It's such hopelessly romantic sentiment.

She hisses in a breath when Sam asks if the boy would court his lady love. She holds that breath until the boy shakes his head and asserts that he won't. It breaks Rachel's heart to think that this poor boy would think so little of himself.

Surely every person becomes more than themselves in love. Rachel is certain that every man and every woman should have the one person they want.

It is her duty as a human being happy in love to see that this boy get his girl, whoever she might be.

— s — — b —

Brittany is sorry that she reacted so badly against Sam. It's just that when he said those things about Santana, she could only think about this morning when Santana had been so down on herself. Santana reacted so strongly against Brittany calling her 'Miss'. It broke Brittany's heart and hearing Sam use _that_ word against her in such a way. Like her circumstances made her a less worthy a person. It makes Brittany's chest tight with a quiet anger that made her lash out at her friend.

"I'm sorry I got angry with you Sam." She tries to apologise but Sam just waves her off.

A male voice makes them both jump, "Sorry to interrupt you both." Lieutenant Anderson is looking at them apologetically with a small woman smiling beside him.

The woman is wearing a pretty pink dress and grinning at Brittany. It is entirely disconcerting and Brittany feels her face go red even though she doesn't yet know why this woman could be staring at her. She's looking at Brittany like she is a great big prize wrapped up in a soldier's uniform.

Sam shuffles beside Brittany, "You're not interrupting. How can I help you Lieutenant?"

Anderson looks between the two soldiers and the smiling woman, "Mrs Hudson, this is Private Pierce and Private Evans. They will be escorting you into town."

Mrs Hudson's smile gets impossibly wider and she steps forward with a raised hand. "Please call me Rachel. I've begged Blain a hundred times to do so but he simply won't entertain the idea, he's always so proper. I would love to know your first names also since it will be so much nicer, especially since I will probably be requiring your services more during our time in Clothier."

Brittany looks at Lieutenant Anderson. Apparently the news that she and Sam will be spending more than the afternoon with Mrs Hudson is new to him as well.

Sam, in his simple country way, doesn't hesitate to take the other woman's hand with his own. "It is a pleasure to meet you Rachel. My name is Sam Evans and this is Brent Pierce."

Rachel turns her attention to Brittany who only hesitates a moment before taking her hand. This woman is her Major's wife so Brittany will take every word as if it were a command from him.

Lieutenant Anderson still looks mildly disapproving but doesn't say anything.

"It is nice to meet you Rachel," Brittany remembers her manners, "I'm pleased to be of any assistance to you."

Rachel practically sparkles and even giggles happily, as though she is in on some joke that Brittany doesn't quite understand yet. "Oh I'm sure we can all be of marvellous assistance to one another Brent. I look forward to getting to know you better," she looks at Sam and adds as if in after thought, "And you as well Sam. I'm sure we'll all get along very well."

The Lieutenant seems to have witnessed enough pleasantries and moves to dismiss himself, "You both are to escort Mrs Hudson to the local Doctor. Please ensure that you wear the appropriate uniform." He looks over his two soldiers who are both in their training uniforms. I will bring Mrs Hudson to the Major's tent where you both will meet her in ten minutes sharp."

Brittany looks down at her chest to see that her shirt is not only dirty but also unbuttoned. She moves quickly to reloop her buttons and brush off the dirt. She looks over at Sam who is scrambling to do the same. The Lieutenant is using a commanding voice that Brittany rarely hears from him. The Major's wife must be wearing on his nerves. His posture is stiff as he leaves the tent.

Rachel gives them both an airy wave and practically skips out of the tent in Lieutenant Anderson's wake.

Sam slumps down on the nearest bag of potatoes. "What was that?" he asks, running a hand through his hair.

"Major Hudson's wife apparently." Brittany says, staring out the tent where the small woman just left. "I wonder why she would need to visit a Doctor?"

— s — — b —

Shannon has seen a lot in her lifetime, both good and bad. Her time as a medic gave her an appreciation for the marvel of biology that lies beneath a man's skin. It also showed her the value of a sense of humour in the face of awful circumstances. Blood, guts, bile and pustules can be funny as all get out with the right attitude.

Shannon's time at the edge of the battle front prepared her for many things. She's not sure anything could really have prepared her for Clothier though. These mining camps on the edge of civilisation are so different from anything she has ever experienced before. She packed her bag with supplies, preparing for what she thought would be the worst case scenario. She arrived with an open mind, hoping to do some good.

The whore house was one thing that Shannon didn't anticipate but she has taken a special interest in Shelby's girls. Each and every one of those girls is making the best of a rotten situation and that is certainly something that Shannon can respect. She won't ever judge them, she'll just do her best to keep them healthy. The more unseemly aspects of their work can certainly wreak havoc on their bodies. Whether it's unpleasant bruising, pregnancy or—more distressing—disease, the girls fall under her care.

Shelby pays her of course, in both cash and booze. Sex was offered as it usually is—many in the camp will accept a few nights of pleasure as ample payment for services rendered—but Shannon had politely declined. The knowing smile Shelby gave her was a mite unsettling.

Shelby is sending a few of her girls to Shannon this afternoon and she is arranging her supplies accordingly. Shelby already sent through names of the girls she's sending in and each one has their particular requirements. They all have the general check-up of course, some need ointments, some suffer allergies and some suffer from peculiar nerves.

Quinn Fabray is always an interesting case and Shannon has her medication prepared. The opium solution is not one that the doctor favours but the girl's dependency has become acute. The trauma Quinn suffered bringing her baby into the world only to give it to someone else; no girl can come through that without some deep scars. It makes Shannon's heart hurt to even think about it. She hates what opium can do but understands that it can offer true relief for some ills.

Another name on her list is Santana Lopez. Where Quinn makes Shannon's heart ache with sadness, Santana gives Shannon the harsh feeling of pride. Santana is feisty as hell with more attitude than anyone could have guessed could fit into that little body. She is quick to use angry and hurtful words but is really so emotionally fragile that the smallest pressure could break her. Shannon is almost surprised that it isn't Santana with the inclination towards opium. There seems to be a subtle bravery in her though that, coupled with a less than subtle dollop of pride, keeps her head held high. Santana has let Shannon see behind her walls and that makes the doctor glad for her work.

— s — — b —

Quinn and I pick our way around the deep puddles that litter the road outside of Corcoran's. I dislike leaving the house at the best of times and this is the second time today. I curse loudly as Quinn's boots flick mud back toward me.

"Goddamn this mud. Why does Shelby do this to us? She gives us the afternoon off and then takes it away to go be poked and prodded by the strangest man in the country."

"Don't exaggerate Santana. It not flattering," Quinn smirks at me over her shoulder.

I check her face for any signs of tension. I know that she has been getting stronger doses of opium from the Doctor. Quinn spends quite a bit of her time in a haze these days. She assures me that it's perfectly pleasant but it still worries me. She's hardly herself when she is under the drug's influence; she can also become extremely anxious as the effects wear off. Especially when she doesn't know how long she'll be without the tonic. I can see that, even as we walk her shoulders are hunched and her hands are clenched in tight fists. Her eyes seem clear though and Beiste is certain to give her more of what she craves.

If Quinn wants to disappear into oblivion I can't hold it against her. Shelby has basically already told her that she'll be the exclusive property of one Noah Puckerman for most of the week. I have to wonder if Shelby knows what treatment Beiste is offering Quinn. I know that Quinn threatened Sugar with mutilation if she said anything to Shelby and Mercedes counts Quinn as a sister so she won't say anything. I won't tell Shelby anything while Quinn completes all her jobs in the House. It's none of my business or concern. Quinn has no means of threatening a man like Dr Beiste though and nothing of value to offer him for silence.

I do hope the doctor has kept it to himself. I share so much of myself with him in our brief visits. If he shares Quinn's secrets than he might share my own.

I'm certain that he understands me better than any other man in Clothier(or anywhere). He knows my body as intimately as any Trick but has only ever shown professional indifference. It makes me feel safe in his company. It might be an illusion but it's one I indulge in as I share more of myself with him than I do with anyone else.

— s — — b —

Brittany is convinced that Rachel Hudson is one of the most conceited and annoying people she has ever met. She had seemed nice enough when they met in the Mess tent. She even indulged in a certain amount of self effacement on the way out of camp. It's just unfortunate that there just doesn't seem to be any kind of filter between the woman's thoughts and her tongue.

"I hope you can forgive my intense curiosity Brent. I know it is a poor quality in a woman but you see, I truly just want to understand people," she looks at Brittany sideways as she continues. "If my understanding of a certain person maybe helps that person understand themselves than all the better."

Brittany is tempted to just ignore her chatter and concentrate on the noises in the grass instead. It is so easy to hum her own tune with the peculiar rhythm of the insects. The smell of the grass and the colour of the sky combine with that song into an intoxicating medley of sensation. She wishes she could feel the grass under her feet without the heavy boots in her way. She longs to dance.

Brittany wonders of Santana can dance. She will have to ask next time she sees her. Santana had suggested that they might not see each other again but that had already been proven untrue. There has also been indications in the Company that they will remain in Clothier for some time. No matter how long a time that is, Brittany will take every opportunity to make Santana see how wonderful she is. The night they spent together was not enough and Brittany suspects that Santana doesn't remember much of it besides.

An annoyingly sing-song voice interrupts her thoughts. "Brent, did you hear my question?" Rachel is looking at her expectantly. She seems impatient and irritated that Brittany hasn't given her full attention.

Brittany reminds herself that she was to be taking this woman's words with the same consideration as her commanding officer's. "I'm sorry Mrs Hudson, I just got distracted."

"I told you it's Rachel. Please remember Brent, it's important to me."

"I'm sorry Rachel, you were saying?"

"I was asking actually if you had a sweetheart. A girl that you may have been thinking of just now perhaps?" she asks slyly.

Sam, a few paces ahead of them coughs into his hand. Brittany wonders if he's covering a laugh. She hopes so. The tense moment between them earlier has left her a little unsettled.

Brittany reflects on the question, blushing as she realises what Rachel means. She was thinking of Santana but that wasn't what Rachel asked.

Brittany shakes her head, trying to reduce the heat in her face by sheer will. "No, I don't have a sweetheart."

Rachel nods solemnly as though she expected this response. "But you do have someone you're sweet on?"

Brittany shakes her head but Rachel is having none of it.

"Now, don't be shy with me Private. I know that look on anyone. You're in love. I'm sure of it."

Brittany stumbles in her step, almost catching herself on Rachel's shoulder. She rights herself just in time but nearly chokes on her own tongue in her rush to reply. "N—no, nothing like that. I mean, Santana is—i—is—" she stutters to a halt and swallows dryly. She feels light headed; her feet are too far away from her body and her hands tingle. The buildings that they're walking past appear lopsided and altogether…drift-y.

Rachel's smirk brings Brittany back to the ground and her feet. "Her name is Santana?" she asks.

Brittany doesn't respond.

Rachel sighs longingly, "Oh this is so lovely. I do hope I get to meet her. Seeing the two of you together would make this all so much more wonderful to write about. Is Santana an Italian name?"

Brittany just shrugs, wishing that Rachel would stop talking and that Sam could lead them to the doctor faster.

— s — — b —

I spot the hanging board with the symbol for medicine at the same time Quinn does and we pick up our pace. Quinn longs for the medicine inside and I long to be away from this mud. I could swear the dirt is embedding itself under my nails even as we walk. The warm, clean interior of Beiste's house could not be near enough.

I blink when I hear my name. It's too far away and in too high a voice to be Quinn calling me. I scan the street, weary of some awkward diversion.

Then Brittany Pierce domes into view, walking directly towards my same destination. She is led by her blonde friend and accompanied by a short brunette. Brittany looks extremely perturbed by the smaller woman and I am immediately curious.

Quinn spots the group a moment after I do. She glances at me then yells out before I can stop her, "If it isn't Private Pierce."

Brittany's attention snaps toward us and her gaze instantly finds mine. That twinge happens again in my chest again and brings my footsteps to a halt. My hands tingle and a lightheadedness makes the ground seem further away than it ought to be.

Brittany smiles. I think of pretty flowers on my windowsill and long, delicate arms wrapped around my waist.


	7. She Must Be an Officer's Wife

**AN**: Longer chapter for the longer update time.

Thanks for all the incredibly sweet reviews guys.

* * *

Quinn is quick to catch my hand and she drags me forward, her grip made of iron.

Brittany's friend has brought the group to a halt not far from Beiste's door and I glance toward it longingly before returning my attention to Brittany. The first thing I see is the rifle she hold across her chest. I guess I shouldn't be surprised but I am. Looking at her now I'm forced to realise that she really is a soldier with a pay-packet, service uniform and all. She actually wears the uniform very well. She seems more mature somehow with the polished buttons and high, starched collar. With the gun cradled in both hands she strikes an intimidating figure. She carries an air of authority with an easy grace that I would usually associate with a much more experienced officer.

My gaze wanders from her boots, back up her body to her eyes. She is watching me wearily, her gaze drifting between myself, the pretty woman next to her and the Doctor's door.

Quinn is practically skipping as she reaches the group. "Hello Brent. It is wonderful to see you again. I trust you're well."

I can see the colour rushing all the way to Brittany's ears as she looks between me and the small brunette beside her. "I ah, yes I'm fine. Private Evans and I were just escorting Mrs Hudson." she gestures to the shorter woman and I am immediately dubious about her character. She is smiling far took broadly to be natural.

I look her over critically. She's definitely Jewish, her resemblance to Shelby Corcoran could almost be called familial. Her features are strong but there is a beauty there that is difficult to ignore. Looking her over, I can see that her dress is made of a finer fabric than my own and the shoes half hidden by her skirts, while plain and not particularly fashionable are highly polished and obviously expensive. She must be an officer's wife.

I don't like the way this woman is staring at Brittany with that overly wide smile and shining eyes. Brittany's persistent blush makes me feel inexplicably tense as I worry at a thread in my skirt. I want to know why she is here with Brittany and—I glance at the doctor's door—and why Brittany is visiting Doctor Beiste.

— s — — b —

Santana appears to have grown even prettier in the few hours since Brittany saw her last. It's a shame that Brittany can barely maintain eye contact with her. The heat in her face is a direct result of everything that Rachel said just moments ago about Brittany's…affections. The way that Rachel is looking between Santana and Brittany is definitely not helping. Brittany wishes she could hide under a rock and she's barely able to get out a response to Santana's friend's greeting.

It occurs to Brittany that she should make introductions but she can't remember the Blonde girl's name. She recognises her from Corcorans. She's the girl that ran past her in the hallway just this morning. That man, Puck had mentioned her name, Brittany's sure. It was definitely a strange name she'd never heard before but beyond that she can't remember.

Brittany swallows as she glances from Santana back to Rachel again, the heat in her face never dissipating.

Rachel seems to realise that introductions from Brittany are not forthcoming. She steps towards Santana's blonde friend with a hand raised, palm up and open, "Hello, my name is Rachel Hudson," she holds one hand over her heart as she elaborates unnecessarily. "I'm the wife of the Major to these fine soldiers and an observer of military life. I'm glad to be making your acquaintance."

The blonde girl takes Rachel's hand, one perfect eyebrow arching up, "Nice to meet you Rachel Hudson, wife of the Major and observer of military life. I'm Quinn Fabray, whore of Corcoran's Drink and Gaming House, observer of life in general and promiscuous behaviour in particular."

Brittany's jaw drops and she see's Santana's do the same. Brittany is sure that Quinn just said exactly the most inappropriate thing she could think of. Rachel looks shocked but somehow maintains her composure. She doesn't even drop the other girl's hand as Quinn stares challengingly into her eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Quinn Fabray," Rachel says , a confident smile reappearing.

Quinn returns the smile while their hands remain clasped for a moment longer than necessary. Eventually Rachel lets go and turns to Santana. She looks inconceivably pleased as she extends her hand yet again, "And you must be Santana," she says glancing obviously towards Brittany. "Brent has conceived to tell me as little about you as possible. I can't even express how pleased I am to meet you for myself."

— s — — b —

Rachel hadn't anticipated this turn of events. The insinuation of the conversation she overheard earlier had been that Brent's lady love was a promiscuous woman. Rachel hadn't realised that the Santana was a literal prostitute. This Quinn Fabray had boldly named herself a whore and labeled Santana one by association. Rachel is elated to meet them both. The stories these women could share with her. The rich, fascinating details Rachel will be able to fill her notebook with are surely beyond her current understanding.

She's proud that she could rise to the challenge this Quinn Fabray presented to her. The harshness of her words are a deliberate attempt to provoke her but Rachel wouldn't even consider giving up after a little vulgarity. Rachel let's go of Quinn's hand reluctantly, turning to present her open hand to Santana.

Rachel hopes to ingratiate herself with the girl as quickly as possible. If she is to be an appropriate match maker she will need to know far more about her than she does now. Rachel wonders if she might discuss the situation with the owner of this Corcorans she keeps hearing about. He must be a savvy business man to establish his business in a place like this. Maybe Rachel could come to some form of business arrangement with him.

When Santana's glare makes it quite clear that she isn't going to shake her hand, Rachel returns her arm delicately to her side. She doesn't miss the way that Santana's eyes roam over her from head to toe before flickering toward Brent. Rachel wonders if that is a flash of jealousy in Santana's eyes. It is certainly a good sign if this Santana is already possessive of the boy.

Rachel clears her throat to hopefully move past any awkwardness. She nods towards the building they've stopped in front of. "Are you destined for the good doctor's residence as well then?" She's hoping that her question isn't too forward. "I myself simply require a pharmacist but I have been assured that the doctor and pharmacist are one and the same in Clothier.

Quinn is the one to answer for both women once again. "Yes, we're here for Beiste. All the girls visit him once a month. Shelby wouldn't want any of her patrons claiming that she offered a…substandard product."

Quinn's attitude is once again challenging but Rachel is absolutely elated. "Corcoran is a woman?" she asks. "But this is absolutely perfect." she declares.

Quinn's detached attitude seems to shift just a little as she stares at Rachel, "Yes, Shelby Corcoran runs the house," she eyes Rachel wearily. "Why is that so 'perfect'?"

— s — — b —

Rachel positively beams and Quinn wonders how any civilised woman—as Rachel seems to be—can be so excited about a whorehouse.

Rachel explains, "Well I should very much like to discuss an interesting opportunity with Ms Corcoran. Do you think you could perhaps set up a meeting for me?"

Quinn gives her a speculative look, "An interesting business opportunity?" she asks suggestively.

Rachel nods slowly, "I guess, yes, you could say that."

Quinn smirks while the soldier Evans stifles a strangled noise and Brent looks at the small woman like she has lost her mind. Quinn wonders if Rachel really means what her words are insinuating(especially considering this woman is married). The notion is certainly not unheard of. There have been men who buy two women for the night, although Quinn has never been a part of those activities herself. Corcoran's even keeps a few young men available for male patrons, so why not women for other women.

"So, if I understand you correctly, you wish to discuss business with Shelby Corcoran who runs the local drink and gaming house which is also very much a brothel." Quinn wants everything to be clear.

Rachel finally seems to understand the insinuation in her words and she blushes prettily. "N—not that kind of business opportunity," she laughs. "Although you are both very beautiful, I assure you that I—I didn't mean anything like _that_." she continues. "I would like to observe some of the grittier aspects of Clothier and I believe that Ms Corcoran will be able to assist me in this regard."

Santana snorts, "Well you'll certainly find plenty of grit. Just look under your fingernails." She seems to have completely missed the potential subtext of the conversation.

Quinn peers at Rachel through narrowed eyes. Something doesn't quite add up, especially with the way her gaze keeps shifting from Santana to Brent and back again.

Before she can demand any more answers Santana nudges at her arm, "Quinn, I'm going inside. There is no way I'm taking on dish duty because you want to exchange pleasantries with vertically deficient Company Wives." she glares at Rachel as though the other woman had already offended her.

Quinn rolls her eyes, not missing the way Santana's gaze flickers between her soldier and Rachel. How Quinn and Santana are friends will always remain a mystery to her. The woman is eternally ill tempered and chronically rude to almost everyone. Never mind the weepy hysterical mess she becomes when she drinks. Last night is the first time in months Quinn has seen Santana with a smile on her face whilst drunk.

"Fine, go," Quinn says pushing Santana towards Beiste's door, "I'll just stay here and talk to Rachel and Brent."

Santana hesitates for just a moment, her eyes finding Brent's automatically. Quinn glances at Rachel who is already looking at her. Rachel asks a silent question and Quinn replies with a half shrug. They're both seeing the same thing. These two people are obviously and hopelessly enamoured with one another.

— s — — b —

I break eye contact with Brittany as soon as I can. The soldier's eyes are too bright. She seems to see straight into my heart, like my clothes and even my flesh are insignificant barriers to her ability to see the whole of my being.

I almost trip over my skirts as I sprint up the three steps to Beiste's door, flinging it open and stepping quickly inside. I close it behind me, pressing the heated skin of my cheek to the cool timber.

A rough, voice makes me freeze and my breath catches.

I turn around to see the doctor standing at his work benche. "Jesus Beiste, you startled me," I clutch my hand over my hammering heart.

The doctor chuckles at me, "I think you just stole my words Miss Lopez. You did just come crashing through my door like a bull through a red flag." he moves around the table to stand beside me, pushing aside the window's curtain to peer outside. "What has your feathers all ruffled?" he asks.

I gulp, knowing that the doctor will probably find out soon if he doesn't already know, "I er—um. There was a—" I pause to catch my breath, feeling as though I just ran a mile.

The doctor smiles, "Is this the feller I keep hearin about?" He nods towards the group still standing outside his door.

I roll my eyes. "How is it everyone knows everything before they even know what it is they're discussing? The company only arrived last night. Who have you even been talking to?"

Beiste looks at me like I should already know the answer and I probably do.

"Mercedes?" I ask but the doctor shakes his head. "Sugar then. I swear, I don't care who her father was. When I see her again I'm going to string that nosey little cu—" I stop my tirade as Beiste shakes his head again.

"Noah just couldn't wait to share the news of your new Trick," the doctor laughs as he directs me toward the examination table.

I slip up onto on the high bed and settle myself against the wall, willing my heart to stop racing. "What exactly did Puck tell you?" I ask, curious since I hadn't even known that Puck met Brittany.

"Just that he met a young Soldier by the name of Brent who was aimin' to bed you. It seems he paid up for the night but didn't actually get his end wet," The doctor holds his hands up as he continues. "Noah's words not mine. Although I'd have ta admit I was curious as to how a man walked outa your room without that special skip innis step."

If anyone else had said that to me I would probably have slapped them. As it is, I feel myself blush(yet again) as I try to explain without explaining. "I—h-he—we, that is to say that I—" I look down at my hands, exasperated by my apparent inability to form coherent sentences.

Beiste just smiles as he pulls a four legged stool towards the bed and deposits some instruments and a notebook beside me. "Scoot forward," he says quietly and I comply, shuffling forward so I'm sitting up straight and my legs dangle over the edge.

"Breath deep for me," he says holding one of his strange instruments up to my chest. It has a long tube with a shallow cup at one end, an earpiece from an old woman's ear trumpet at the other. He's told me before that it allows him to better hear my lungs working. I don't know what he gleans from that but the little notebook beside me is filled with indecipherable notes about my body and its inner workings.

He measures the pulse at my wrist against his pocket watch and I know that it will be beating far quicker than it ought to be. He looks up at me after just a moment, "Settle down kitten, I'm trying to get a measure of your restin heart beat and you're about as calm as a june bug on a string." He glances toward the window. "Now which soldier are we talking about? The one that looks like a fine catch on a fish hook or the boy fresh outa grade school."

"He's twenty one, hardly a child." I say automatically, scowling at Beiste's knowing smirk.

The doctor lets go of my wrist. "Fine, he's not young, just a feller in need of a few good meals. But I've never seen you get attached to a Trick before. Not even Puck though he was half set to marry ya. How's this one got you so worked up?"

"He hasn't—" I start but the look Beiste points at me halts the denial in my throat. "I—I don't know what's happening to me," I finally admit. The tense feeling in my chest seems to tighten further as I press at my forehead, willing my emotions to untangle themselves.

I glance towards the door. Knowing that Brittany is waiting on the other side makes me inexplicably nervous and excited all at once.

Beiste looks at me sympathetically but offers nothing to stop my worry. "Off with this lot," he demands gently, rising from his seat long enough to pull the high timber privacy screen between me and the door.

I slip off the bed and remove the red sash from my waist along with my black bodice. My skirt, underskirt, petticoat and corset cover all join the pile so I can finally get to the clasps at the front of my corset(no one can say that the girls from Corcorans go into town under dressed). I can't help the sigh of relief that escapes me when I finally pull away the corset; I ignore Beiste's sorry look and reposition myself back on the bed.

The doctor listens to my lungs again then holds my wrist, making his usual notes. I've given up trying to make any sense of his scribbles a long time ago and he gives no insight to his writings. I pull up my chemise and lay back against the pillows, knowing by heart what the next step in the exam entails.

Beiste is as efficient as possible, taking care to touch lightly over my more intimate areas.

"Why do you think this boy is different?" The doctor asks abruptly as he pushes my draws aside.

I shift my gaze from my favourite spot in the ceiling to look at him.

He elaborates, "What is different about this boy over any of the others?"

Beiste knows so much about me that I feel almost nervous under his searching gaze. He knows as well as I do that I don't get attached to Tricks; I don't encourage them to get attached to me either, beyond what they can get from my body. I don't get emotionally involved ever, yet here I am stumbling over my words and accepting fresh picked wildflowers from a Trick. Brittany isn't an average Trick but as far as everyone else knows, she is(I know there is nothing average about Brittany).

I try to explain, "He's just different from anyone else," I start, rubbing at my temples. The tiny ache still present there is a reminder of how much I drank. I laugh, "I barely even remember last night. What we did or talked about is such a blur. It's like I've been left with this feeling that sh—that Brent is someone I want to know better, you know?" I glance at Beiste, hoping he didn't notice my near blunder.

He pushes my knees back together and shifts to examine my abdomen. He was worried about some internal scarring.

"What about him?" he finally asks. "What does he want from you?" He looks curious and I know I can choose to not answer if I want.

I think about the question. What does Brittany want? She wants to see more of me(I remember her long fingers playing along the clasps of my corset). I think I want to see more of her as well. This pulling feeling in my chest says I want to know her, maybe even become her friend. Is that possible? Quinn is my closest friend but we each have such strong defences around ourselves; our friendship is hardly a warm one. Is that the kind of friendship I would have with Brittany? I try to remember everything about my conversation with her this morning.

I remember her parting words as Beiste folds up his instrument and puts it aside, "Brent wants me to feel like a lady." I roll my eyes. "He said that one day I should have a gentleman treat me like I deserve" I scoff a laugh—bitter even to my own ears—and ignore the sting of tears behind my eyes. "He wishes me well."

— s — — b —

The longing in Santana's voice is stronger than Shannon has ever heard from the girl before. Santana has never shown any sign of wanting better for herself. She accepts her lot in life and while she endeavours to make the most of her circumstances she never presumes to improve on them. Shannon knows that even within the House, Santana holds a tenuous place of respect among the other girls but she never chooses to use it to her advantage. Santana seems to think that the other girls are just afraid of her. It hasn't occurred to her that she could improve her position through the respect of others.

Shannon glances back to her hands realising that she's stalled in her examination. She blinks to clear herself of distracting thoughts and goes back to nudging her fingertips across the girl's abdomen.

"It sounds like he shows you a little respect," she says, glancing up to Santana's face. "Must be a nice change for you." Santana laughs in apparently genuine amusement this time so Shannon presses forward. "Really. Maybe you just like the way he treats you. It's not that difficult to understand. I'm sure if I we're a woman, respect is something I would treasure."

"That's easy for you to say, Doctor. You're not a woman" Santana drawls. "And I'm the one being given flowers in front of all the other girls."

Shannon chuckles at the image of that scarecrow of a boy holding out a dirty pansy. "How'd he take it when you refused his gift?" she asks.

Santana becomes so still and silent that Shannon looks up to check she's still breathing. If her chest wasn't still rising and falling, Shannon might have been concerned. The redness in Santana's cheeks is startling and spreads all the way to her chest.

Shannon's patient swallows visibly, "Actually, I took the flowers. They're in a bottle on the windowsill above my bed." she redirects her gaze back to the ceiling. "They were pretty. Purple wildflowers. Quinn knew the name of them but I've forgotten."

Shannon doesn't know what to do with this information. "What if he tries to court you?"

Shannon feels the muscles under her fingers tense. "I don't think that's something I need to worry about Beiste." Santana sighs again. "But maybe we can be—friends?"

Her voice lifts at the end as though she's truly asking Shannon what she thinks. Shannon looks up to see Santana staring at her hands, playing with a lock of her own dark hair.

Shannon pulls the chemise back over Santana's hips. "I think you should embrace this Santana. If he makes you feel somethin after just meetin him, then…well why not see what more time can do.

— s — — b —

Brittany kicks at the dirt under her boots. Quinn and Rachel are doing that extremely grating thing where they say one thing with their words but then say many other things with their eyes and bodies. Since Santana went inside Rachel has discussed the roads and Quinn has mentioned the weather; both have conversed at length about the new style of parasol now popular in Washington which is apparently where Rachel was before she chose to join her husband in Clothier.

Brittany tries to not appear too annoyed with the two women but it is becoming increasingly difficult. They're playing a subtle game with each other. Behind the civil words and cordiality is a game of challenges, submissions and admonitions. Brittany doesn't care one jot about any of it. She wants to know what is happening with Santana on the other side of that door.

Brittany glances toward Sam who is slouching with his weapon looped over his shoulder. His posture is casual and completely non-threatening. He looks almost as bored as she feels though Brittany hopes that she's maintaining a slightly more professional air. She's convinced—albeit without basis—that Major Hudson would want some strong, intimidating soldiers protecting his wife.

Brittany tightens her hold on the rifle and glares up and down the street. It's a quiet afternoon and the only people moving about are far too absorbed in their own business to even look their way, let alone cause any trouble.

She glances toward the door, infinitely curious as to what might be happening on the other side. Quinn had said that this was a regular visit. But what does that mean? Is it a regular visit because Santana has been unwell and needs to regularly meet with the doctor. If that's so then why is Quinn here? Is it as simple as safety since it could be dangerous for a woman to walk alone through Clothier, even during the day?

"Brent, if you would like to go inside, you're welcome to," Rachel says, obviously and deliberately following Brittany's gaze to the Doctor's door.

Brittany feels her cheeks go red. Here she thought she was maintaining a professional attitude. "I er don't think the Major would like me leaving you Mrs Hudson."

A small hint of colour shows under Rachel's cheeks as her eyes flash, "I've told you to call me Rachel, Brent and I can assure you that the major is," she pauses to take a breath. "the Major is engaged in far more important matters than worrying about me. So please, go ahead, we'll follow you in a moment."

"But I wouldn't want to interrupt," Brittany can't help but argue. "or accidentally eaves drop on something I'm not meant to hear."

The thought of possibly walking in on Santana in any form of undress also makes Brittany feel like she just tried to swallow a penny.

Rachel shares a look with Quinn, silently communicating something. Brittany wonders how they so quickly learned to talk to one another without speaking.

Quinn doesn't hesitate to agree with Rachel. "Yes Brent, you should definitely go on ahead. Private Evans is still here to keep us safe," she nods confidently adding, "And I'm sure Santana won't mind having you there."

Brittany doesn't quite share her confidence but she is sick of waiting outside and getting increasingly anxious just staring at the closed door. She wants to make sure that Santana really is fine. Even if Santana's wellbeing isn't technically any of her business she still wants to know.

— s — — b —

I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the table. Beiste hands me my clothes and underthings before he leaves me to get dressed. I have to assume he's making more notes at his desk since the privacy screen now hides him from view.

I lift up the heavy corset and register that my hands are actually shaking. Sharing so much of myself always leaves me feeling oddly drained. I rarely share anything beyond the standard pleasantries(or insults) with the girls in the house. Even the girls I share my room with and love to pieces know little about me personally. Sugar and Mercedes are both incorrigible gossips which makes me disinclined to share and Quinn is usually too wrapped up in her own issues to deal with mine. Besides, Quinn and I both respect each other too much to suddenly break down and share ourselves in any meaningful way.

The doctor seems to be able to get past my walls like no on else. He listens to what I say with more attention and understanding than anyone else ever has. It's unsettling for me, how easy it is to open myself up to him. If he were to ever leave Clothier, I don't know what I'd do.

I have to take what he has said about Brittany into consideration. The girl is slipping past all of my highest, coldest barriers like they're nothing. What Beiste says about my responding to the simple kindness and respect Brittany gives me must be true. I'm just so used to remaining detached from everyone that Brittany's uncanny ability to make me _feel_ is leaving me deeply unsettled. All Brittany has done is show a little respect then hand over a small, unassuming bunch of flowers and I'm shaken to the core(I remember a warm hand on my waist).

I slip into my short petticoat, cinching it at my waist. I wrap the corset around my back and bring the front ends together. A knock at the Doctor's door startles me but I force my uncooperative fingers to work the clasps back together. I know that Quinn won't hesitate to push me out into the open room if it means she can have her time with Beiste over with sooner.

I hear the doctor shift some supplies across his desk before he moves to open the door, letting out a small chuckle when he does. I can imagine Quinn's disgruntled expression at being left waiting at the door for more than a moment.

I'm just pulling the corset cover over my head as I call through the privacy screen, "Stop glaring Quinn, you'll get wrinkles and look like a grumpy old tortoise before you're twenty one."

I duck my head around the edge of the furthest panel to smirk at Quinn and nearly fall over when she isn't the blonde that I find there. Brittany is loitering in Beiste's doorway. She must have snapped her eyes closed as soon as she saw my bare shoulders and her expression is simultaneously guilty, fearful and embarrassed. Even from the other side of the room I can see the white knuckled grip she holds on her rifle.

"Sorry, sorry I didn't—I er. Quinn told me to come inside and—I'm sorry." she stammers through more apologies and I can only imagine that her face is maybe as red as my own. I can't see her anymore because I ducked back behind the screen fast enough to create a breeze.

I try not to trip over my own feet as I scramble to get my skirt and blouse back on. I fumble the fabric on the skirt twice before I manage to pull it over my legs.

Beiste is laughing hard. "Stop hanging in the doorway boy. You're not a bunch of mistletoe and I don't think I'm getting a kiss anytime soon."

With my blouse finally buttoned I peek around the outside edge of the screen. If I don't make any noise, maybe they'll leave me be. I'm sill a mess with my hands shaking and my heart thundering in my chest. Beiste continues to chuckle as he wraps his hand around Brittany's shoulders and draws her further into the room.

I shrink back behind the relative safety of the screen with my back pressed against the timber panel and I take deep, calming breaths. I can hear Beiste settling Brittany into the simple chair beside his desk. The timber joints creek and I can imagine Brittany settling into the seat. I peek around the corner again and I can see Brittany sitting with her weapon rattling against her bouncing knees. Her eyes are still squeezed shut and it actually looks like she might have stopped breathing.

I can't help it. I smile and then snort. Brittany's eyes snap open and I let out a full laugh as her worried blue gaze finds mine. I know Beiste is still watching me but I can't care when Brittany's lips quirk up into a bashful smile. I walk out from behind the screen.

She stands up from her chair, knocking it over backwards in her haste. "Whoops, sorry," she mumbles, apparently to the chair before lifting it upright again and turning back to me. "And I'm really sorry I came in Miss Santana. It's just that Quinn thought that I should come inside. She and Rachel were doing that thing where two people say stuff behind their words and it was a bit boring and I was worried about you and—and I'm really sorry, I'll just go back outside." She says everything quickly while staring determinedly at the floor between us.

I don't entirely register that she is moving to leave until she has taken several steps towards the door. A floorboard creeks under her boot and startles me. I automatically stumble after her, stretching out one hand to catch her arm.

"No wait," I exclaim, volume much higher then necessary. I clear my throat and use a softer tone, "Wait Sweets, you don't have to run off." I glance over to Beiste who seems to be making himself busy behind his desk.

I swallow dryly as I try to make sense of my own mess of a mind. The warmth under my palm as it rests on Brittany's arm is distracting. One concrete thought emerges from the rest. "Stay with me?" The words are a quiet confession. My inflection barely registering the question.

I roll my eyes at how overly dramatic I sound.

Before I can correct myself Brittany turns and meets my eyes. She lets out a sigh, "Of course, Miss Santana. I'll stay with you."

* * *

**AN**: More?


	8. A Tiny Splinter

AN: I just can't even describe how much I love you guys. Over 100 reviews! So to celebrate this and the month since I published the frst chapter I give you:

* * *

Brittany looks down to where my hand is still resting against her arm. I pull it back reflexively, glancing towards Beiste. The doctor appears totally absorbed in whatever it is he's doing at his desk.

"Will you, um. I mean," I realise I have no idea what I wanted once I got Brittany to stay.

Beiste's voice startles us both, "Rest your arms there kidlet."

Brittany looks down to her left elbow then back to me as if asking for a translation. "He means the rifle Sweets," I explain quietly.

Beiste laughs at Brittany's blush, "No need for rifles in here unless you think I'm hiding Indians in my supply cabinet," he chuckles at his joke.

I hate the way the Doctor and everyone else keeps calling Brittany 'boy' and otherwise insinuating that she is young or otherwise incapable. I know it's irrational to assume the doctor is criticising Brittany but something in Beiste's tone riles me. I look between Brittany's expression and Beiste. Britt has her lower lip trapped, worrying it between her teeth. I feel my ire rise and I turn on the doctor placing myself between the big man and Brittany with my arms folded across my chest.

"Uh-uh, no see you don't get to call him boy or kidlet, youngin or any other _charming_ expression you may have holed up and ready for later use," I motion with an open palm towards Brittany without looking at her. "Private Brent Pierce is a strong soldier with plenty to offer. Maybe he isn'ht cutting people open or dispensing opium pills like candy but he has _plenty_ more to offer the world and anyone with eyes can see that he is a man worth _so much_ more than most," I take a deep breath at the close of my impromptu tirade.

The doctor looks down at me with anger flashing in his usually calm eyes. My mind finally catches up with the words that just pored themselves out of me. I almost immediately regret the harshness of my words if not the actual message. The comment about opium pills was particularly uncalled for though. I know that Beiste only gives out Opium under extreme circumstances. Quinn can't sleep without it and Beiste isn't responsible for her original dependency anyway.

I struggle to keep eye contact with the doctor but refuse to back down, knowing that Brittany is still behind me. Finally the stern glare softens as his eyes flick from mine to Brittany where she stands behind me still. Beiste huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, an indulgent smile pulling at one corner of his mouth.

Beiste nods towards Brittany and I take a step backwards so I can see the both of them at once. The doctor holds out a hand to Brittany, "Well *Private* Brent Pierce, it is a pleasure to meet you. I'm Doctor Shannon Beiste."

Brittany hesitates for a moment, glancing toward me before returning her gaze to Beiste to shake his hand. Her grip must have been a strong one because Beiste actually winces.

"Geez boy, you're taking that strong soldier title to heart aren't ya?" he glances at me and my intense disapproval must be showing because Beiste quickly amends his words after dropping Brittany's hand. "That is to say, you have a heck of a grip there Brent."

He looks at me as though checking that using Brittany's first name is appropriate. I give only a tacit approval as I unfold my arms from across my chest.

— s — — b —

Santana's intensity leaves Brittany feeling warm all over. She doesn't entirely understand why Santana got so upset when the doctor called her 'boy' but the things she said made Brittany think that Santana had heard a lot of people talking about Brittany and how she looked.

Brittany will admit that it doesn't exactly feel good when the other soldiers talk down to her or go out of their way to be mean about how skinny she is. On the other hand, they're right about her. She is slim and young looking. She can't get the big muscles like the men do and she won't grow a beard no matter how many times she pretends to shave in the morning. Not that she would want a beard since they're all scratchy. She likes having soft girl's skin thank you very much.

The doctor offers his hand and Brittany takes it with his introductions. She grips hard as has become habit with every new man she meets. It only occurs to her afterwards that it might be a bad idea. The big man winces in surprise. That is to say the woman does since—Brittany looks the Doctor over—Shannon Beiste is just like her. She has done herself up in a suit and looks more like a man than Brittany could ever pull off but she is definitely not one. If Santana doesn't know the doctor's secret then it mustn't be common knowledge. Brittany has no intention of saying anything to anyone.

Deciding to ignore the mystery of this doctor, Brittany quickly looks for somewhere to keep her rifle. She isn't exactly meant to leave it lying around but the doctor did tell her to put it away. She knows she should go back outside. If anything happens to Rachel she'll be in so much strife, her life won't be worth a dime.

Santana, finally calming down after her passionate speech gives Brittany a small, shy smile and she is immediately confident that Sam is perfectly capable of looking after the annoying woman outside on his own.

The doctor leaves the room, taking a sheet of paper with her and mumbling something about stock. Brittany holds in her sigh as she approached a blank stretch of wall and positions the butt of her rifle carefully on the ground leaning the long weapon against the timber.

Brittany hopes that the Doctor doesn't feel too bad about the way that Santana spoke to her. Brittany's stomach knots tightly to think of Santana having to step in and defend her like that. As much as she's glad Santana wants to protect her, she doesn't like that it was necessary at all. She wishes she were the one defending and supporting Santana. Not that Brittany can even imagine a time when Santana _would_ need anyone to defend her. She seems to holds herself with such a cool dignity at most all times. Her outburst with the doctor seemed so abrupt although—Brittany can't help but think—beautiful. Like lightning in a dark sky.

Brittany decides in that moment that she will become a stronger person. Someone that can stand beside the dark, wilful storm that is Santana and be equal to her. Brittany won't be the bashful girl she was and she'll be more than the scrawny boy that hides behind this blue uniform. She'll be the best and most worthy friend that Santana can have.

She turns to lean against the wall next to her rifle and finds Santana watching her. Brittany looks away from the warm brown eyes that seem to stare straight through her, adjusting the bill of her cap and straightening her collar. She forcibly reminds herself to be calm, strong and self-assured. She forces her posture to be relaxed, fixing Santana with a confident look.

Santana's bearing straightens and she opens her mouth to speak but no sound comes out. Her cheeks grow darker and she is looking at Brittany like she is the most interesting puzzle in the world. Brittany knows that this will be the first of many opportunities to prove her worth to Santana and to herself.

— s — — b —

Brittany relaxes against the wall, bearing a strong resemblance to a cat stretched out in the sun. Her eyes flick up to me and I know that she is making a concerted effort to appear relaxed so that I will be more comfortable. It's a sweet gesture and I let my gratitude show as a smile.

Brittany gives an almost bashful grin as she looks up at me through her eyelashes. As I watch, her body begins to shift and sway slightly to a melody only she can hear as the toe of her left boot taps out a gentle rhythm. There is a sparkle of mischief in her eyes as she watches me move toward her. The tapping of her boot gets more deliberate and Brittany starts alternating toe and heel for a syncopated rhythm.

"You were a dancer," I remember aloud.

She hesitates and glances toward the open door to Beiste's store room before she nods. I know she is wary to talk openly with me when other people can hear and I understand why.

I step up to the wall beside Brittany and mimic her relaxed posture against it. The hard timber is effective in grounding me and I force myself to relax, demanding my hammering heart slow down. With a deep breath I turn my body to face Brittany's. Her deep blue eyes meet mine and she mimics my posture easily, her foot ceasing it's rhythm. She glances around the room, obviously searching for something to talk about.

She clears her throat, "So do you like chocolate?" she asks.

I smile at the simple question, "Everyone likes chocolate."

Brittany shakes her head, "Nope, my father never did and he said that my brother was crazy because he always wanted to dip everything in chocolate."

Her eyes become downcast and I wonder if maybe her father's death may have brought her to the army. I don't ask, not knowing what she is willing to share with me now.

I divert the conversation back, "Maybe you father didn't but I certainly do. We don't get it very often here though. Sometimes I'll be given chocolate as a gift but I always give it to Sugar," I snap my mouth shut since I didn't really want to talk about the House with Brittany.

I wonder if she understands what I do at Corcorans yet. She seemed so genuinely bemused by everything this morning that I don't really know.

Brittany is still looking confused, "Chocolate already has sugar doesn't it?"

I takes me a beat to understand, "Oh, um no. I mean yes, chocolate has sugar but that's not the sugar I'm talking about. Sugar is the name of another girl at Corcorans."

Brittany scrunches up her face a little, "That's a weird name isn't it. Is she sweet?"

Before I get a chance to answer the door opens and Quinn enters followed closely by Rachel.

Rachel is talking animatedly to Quinn who holds the door open for her, "…managed a full fifteen miles all under steam power if you can believe it."

Quinn closes the door behind them both and finds me almost immediately. Rachel stops talking(finally) and looks over to where I'm standing next to Brittany. She beams as Quinn smirks at us. I ignore them both but turn my body slightly more towards the room, rather than Brittany as Beiste walks back in. His arms are full of small boxes and he deposits them on the desk before turning to the girls.

He nods to Quinn then gives a shallow bow to Rachel, "You must be Mrs Hudson."

Rachel smiles and holds out her hand as Beiste stands up straight, "Please do call me Rachel, Doctor."

Beiste hesitates a moment before taking her hand, "Doctor Shannon Beiste," he states far more formally than he had with Brittany.

I wonder if he is being more formal because of Rachel's position or because I had been talking of Brittany so much already.

Quinn leans in to murmur something into Rachel's ear and I'm surprised at how comfortable she seems to already be with the smaller girl. Quinn waits for Rachel's smile and affirmative nod before she moves behind the privacy screen to prepare for her exam.

I turn back to Brittany who is already watching me closel. I feel my cheeks heat under her intense gaze.

"What?" I ask, self consciously smoothing my hair with one hand.

Brittany shakes her head a little as though disputing my very existence. "Where did you come from?" she asks.

I never answer this question honestly but Brittany's bright blue eyes are burning with such innocent curiosity. I glance over to the other people in the room. Quinn and Beist have both disappeared behind the screen and it would seem that Rachel is continuing to talk to them both through it(she could talk though six feet of rubble).

I look back to Brittany who is waiting patiently. "I come from Ohio," I admit quietly. "A nothing little town called Lima."

"Why did you leave," Brittany asks. She seems genuinely curious to know about me and I'm tempted to answer honestly.

It's too early for that conversation so I deflect, "Why would I stay? There's nothing there but a bunch of farms."

Brittany turns so only one shoulder is resting against the wall and she is facing me fully again. Her eyes are an incredible sky blue colour, "Were there cows?" she asks excitedly. "Ooh or horses?"

Her bright eyed enthusiasm is infectious. Even if I can't get excited about the boring reality of my old life in Lima, I can definitely get excited about sharing it with Brittany. "Yes, I even rode horses."

"What were their names?" she asks immediately her eyes flashing from jealous to excited curiosity in a moment.

I struggle to remember what the horses even looked like, "Um, well I had an old mare named Treacle and when she got too old to ride then I got King Deacon."

Brittany grins and tells me that's a great name for a horse. I have to agree with her. She asks more about what they looked like and where I rode them.

I can't help but smile as I answer her questions and turn my body more towards her with every new truth I share with her. Her curiosity seems endless and there is something pleasant about sharing these simple experiences with her.

The conversation shifts to the farms and crops and seasonal changes in Ohio.

"Winter is beautiful," I admit softly. "The wind is horrible but everyone makes do, you know?" I look at Brittany to see if she understands my meaning which of course she does.

I register that we have both moved across the wall so we're only a short distance apart, facing each other fully. Brittany's right knee is bent with all her weight on her straightened left leg. My posture is similar but with my left leg askew. Brittany is picking at a splinter in the timber of the wall between us with her right hand. The way her eyes flick back to me when I pause show she's still paying attention.

"When the snow is fresh it's easy to go outside and play," I continue easily. "It's like everything becomes warmer. Once the clouds have thrown out some ice the sun can come out again." I've sort of lost track of the words I'm saying.

I bring my left hand up and press my fingers against the timber just near the splinter Brittany is attentively prying loose. When the shard of wood finally comes out she grins widely and looks at me. Her eyes lock to mine and I am suddenly very aware of my breathing and pounding heart. Whatever bravery I might have felt this morning when I was with Brittany at Corcorans has fled. I've forgotten what her skin feels like against mine(I want to remember). Considering my now hammering heart, I have no idea how I was able to lie next to her, let alone take her hand or accept the kiss she pressed to my knuckles then.

Remembering that I wasn't the only one feeling a little bolder this morning makes my cheeks burn for the hundredth time that day(the brush of her lips over my knuckles). I wonder if a person can actually, physically die of embarrassment.

"Have you ever seen snow?" I ask as means of distraction.

Brittany glances back down to both our hands as she nods, "Yeah, once when I was little."

Her hand shifts slightly, fingers curling against the wall. I hold my breath, refusing to look away from my hand even though I know I could catch Brittany's eye if I only looked up.

She goes on in a distracted undertone, "My brother pushed me in a drift and I was soaked through."

Brittany extends her fingers out, palm to the wall with her pinky finger nearly touching mine. My fingers twitch as though bending against my will. The raw timber is rough under my fingertips. I flatten my palm across the wall, with my fingers splayed out. I let my smallest finger brush against Brittany's. My eyes dart up to find her cautious blue ones watching me. She smiles and I feel a small smile quirk my own lips. With a determined look Brittany makes the final adjustment, looping her pinkie finger with mine. It feels like a promise.

I stare in wonder at the way her skin contrasts against mine, even at this small point of contact. A warm buzz spreads out from my hand and up my arm. I wonder what it would feel like to have all our fingers tangled—now that we're to be friends.

I continue to stare at our hands, wondering if I can link them entirely and stay breathing at the same time. Suddenly a loud crash and then a bang makes us both jump. My hand snaps automatically back to my chest. Brittany's hand remains against the wall and I glance up to see a shade of disappointment in her eyes.

I round angrily on the idiot who just destroyed our moment. Sugar is standing in the doorway with both arms out from her body as though greeting a crowd.

"Hello Lovers!" She announces at a volume far louder than necessary. "Did you miss me?"

Sugar looks around the room. Rachel looks completely shocked by her abrupt entrance. Beiste's head has popped up over the top edge of the privacy panels and he is looking thoroughly annoyed. I'm surprised to see that even Brittany is wearing a scowl much like my own. When Sugar spots my glare, her arms finally drop.

"What?" she asks.

Quinn ducks around the edge of the privacy panels, still undressed down to her chamise. "Sugar would you lower your voice. Remember how we talked about this?"

Sugar shrugs, "I can't help it if you're all abnormally jumpy. You need to loosen up. Maybe get a good fuck in tonight. You're getting frigid."

Quinn groans and you roll your eyes. It's a version of a common enough joke in the house but everyone knows you don't say things like that in front of regular town people—let alone in front of someone like Rachel or even the doctor. Sugar really is an idiot.

Rachel seems to finally catch up with her own shock and her hand clasps at her heart. I wonder how she is ever going to spend more than 5 minutes at the House if this is her reaction to an obnoxious brat like Sugar. Rachel purposefully redirects her gaze away from the could mouthed girl. Unfortunately, she turns far enough to be facing Quinn directly. Rachel and Quinn both seem to register Quinn's near nakedness at the same time. Rachel yelps and shifts her hand from her mouth up to cover her eyes.

"Oh my God—"

"I'm sorry, I—"

Brittany chuckles beside me as Quinn scrambles back behind the screen. "Well this seems familiar," she says ironically.

I glance at her and then back to Rachel who seems to be taking deep steadying breaths, refusing to lower the hand from her eyes. I realise that this is in fact a very close mirror of Brittany's arrival. I can't help the huff of laughter that escapes me. Brittany is shaking and I look at her as she tries to keep her giggles silent. I lose whatever composure I had left and start laughing, loud and with my shoulders shaking. I can't look at Brittany because if I do I'm sure I would end up in even worse hysterics. So I lean on her instead, pressing my face against her shoulder and clutching at her arm.

Sugar is looking at both of us as though we're insane. I realise that she has probably never seen me laugh like this before. With that depressing notion, I immediately sober. Brittany's effortless and perpetual cheerfulness made me forget myself for a moment. I take a deliberate step away from her. I can't be the one to dim her smile. I won't.

— b — — a —

Santana steps away from Brittany who feels instantly colder ,in the absence of Santana's warm body. It feels like Brittany has just stepped away from the fire on a cold day. She instantly wants a return of the warm, comforting pressure.

The girl, Sugar is watching Brittany speculatively, her eyes running unashamedly over her whole body. Brittany shifts uncomfortably under the girl's stare while resisting the urge to hide herself behind Santana's small frame.

"You're Brent right?" Sugar approaches them with a mischievous smile. "So you're Kitten's soldier boy."

"Sugar, don't," Santana's voice is a low growl with a clear warning.

Brittany looks between them. "Kitten?"

Santana frowns spectacularly and folds her arms across her chest.

"Oh that's just what us girls like to call our little hellcat," Sugar explains. "Cute as a button but prone to using her claws." Sugar emphasises her point by raising both her hands with her fingers curled over to mimic a clawing cat.

"It's a stupid nickname," Santana pouts(cuter than a kitten).

Brittany wonders if it really fits.

Sugar smirks at Santana then Brittany, "But I doubt you have to worry about Kitten's claws, Brent. I'm sure you only get the most friendly of pussy," she pauses dramatically before finishing with a, "Cats."

Brittany's cheeks burn for the latest reminder of what everyone assumes happened between Santana and herself. She isn't sure if she'll ever get used to all the innuendo. Maybe once she and Santana become real friends everyone will forget what they think they know now.

"Sugar, _please_ at least pretend that you are capable of proper decorum and stop talking. For my sake if not your own," Quinn draws Sugar's attention back to herself(somehow already fully dressed) and inadvertently to Rachel who's standing by her side.

"Who are you?" Sugar asks Rachel bluntly. "Are you joining the House too?" she turns back to Quinn accusingly. "I thought Shelby wasn't taking in any more strays this year."

The urgent look in Quinn's eyes is almost comical as she desperately tries to get Sugar to stop talking even though her own words are obviously caught in her throat. Rachel's cheeks are burning and her body turns away from Sugar and toward Quinn's defensively.

Beiste is the one to finally step in, "Sugar, you need to learn to hold that tongue of yours before someone offers to hold it for you—away from your jaw. Now what are you here for?"

Sugar doesn't even look the slightest bit chastened as she ignores the doctor's question, "Who is she then? If you'd just answer the question like a normal person then I wouldn't have to make assumptions."

Quinn and Santana perform tandem eye rolls as Sugar approaches Rachel with her hand extended.

"Since no one else is willing, I'll just introduce myself," sugar says as Quinn slaps a palm to her forehead. "I'm Sugar, the hottest lay in a hundred miles. Who the hell are you?"

Santana snorts and Quinn shakes her head, pulling her hand down her face slowly. Rachel looks to Quinn for some kind of guidance.

When Quinn has nothing to say Rachel takes Sugar's hand. "I'm Rachel Hudson. I arrived with the Company last night...with my husband." She lets go of Sugar's hand quite quickly. "But you can't be more than fifteen. Does Ms Corcoran really take girls so young?"

Sugar's stance goes from cocky to petulant in a heartbeat. "I'm sixteen and a half. And no, Shelby didn't let me work until after my Birthday. But I'm still the hottest bitch at Corcorans." she turns to Santana abruptly, one hand on her hip and the other pointing directly at Santana's face. "And don't you forget it Miss Kitten."

Before Brittany can make anything of these comments Beiste is taking Sugar by the shoulders and guiding her into the exam area.

"And that's enough out of you Miss Best-Lay-In-A-Hundred-Miles. I'm gonna just go ahead and assume that you're here cause Shelby sent ya. So get in there and practice not talkin for five minutes."

The doctor returns to his desk and picks up three wrapped packages. Two she hands to Quinn without comment and the third she gives to Rachel with instructions on dosage and prescribed application. Brittany waits beside Santana, imagining(hoping) she can feel the heat of Santana's arm against her own.

"Did you walk here by yourself Sugar?" Santana asks abruptly.

There's a pause before Sugar pops her head out from behind the divider and answers. "Yeah, I mean everyone else was busy." There's an edge to her voice as she continues. "Tina was the only one that would—or could come with me. And she doesn't really talk so I told her to stay so it wouldn't be awkward."

Santana looks concerned at this information and Brittany wonders if she's worried for Sugar. She and Quinn share a look, exchanging something that Brittany isn't quick enough to grasp. They both obviously care about this obnoxious girl.

"Maybe if you asked the other girls a little nicer?" Quinn suggests gently.

Sugar scoffs, clearly on the defensive, "Everyone else is stupid and boring anyway."

She disappears behind the panels again.

"Well we'll wait for you then," Quinn says, shooting Rachel an apologetic look.

"Don't bother yourself," calls Sugar.

"It's going to be dark soon and I don't want you wandering around by yourself," Santana adds her agreement.

"I'm not 'wandering' around, and I don't want you waiting for me. I'm not a child." Her voice is annoyed and even more defensive, sounding exactly like the small child she claims she isn't.

Rachel presses a hand to Quinn's arm, "What if Evens waited for her and Brent stayed with us. I would very much like to meet Ms Corcoran and by the time we're done Evans will have returned Sugar to Corcorans then he, Brent and myself can be on our way back to camp all safe and sound."

Quinn looks sceptical but she doesn't get a chance to say anything before Sugar appears around the divider again. "Do you mean the blonde boy out the front with the big lips?" she asks, any hint of indignation gone.

Rachel nods, obviously not sure what to expect.

Sugar grins, "Okay, he can stay."

Santana and Quinn both shake their heads, exasperated.

"Settled then." Rachel offers Quinn her arm, "Shall we?"

Quinn startles, looking at Rachel's arm like she doesn't quite know what to do with it.

Rachel's expression falters but only for a moment. "You know, it's customary to take a person's arm when it's offers," she adds, a teasing smile colouring her voice.

"Right," Quinn smiles back. "Let's go before Sugar changes her mind," she says, deliberately loud enough for Sugar to hear.

They all hear the sarcastic "Ha ha," before Quinn takes Rachel's proffered arm and leads them out the door.

As the door closes behind them Brittany picks up her rifle and shrugs herself away from the wall. She makes it a few steps before Santana wraps her hand around Brittany's arm. The warmth sends tingles to Brittany's fingertips and she looks into Santana's face with a question. Santana isn't looking at her though. Her gaze is concentrated on the divider that Dr Beiste has just moved behind.

"Are you sure you'll be alright Sugar?" She asks, a worried crease between her brows.

Sugar waves a dismissive hand over the divider so they can see it, "Go on Kitten, enjoy your boy while you can."

Worry transforms into anger in a heartbeat and Santana's hand drops from her arm. Brittany doesn't want Santana to be angry with anyone and certainly not on her behalf.

Rachel has given her an idea and it's something she really wants to try out. She slings her rifle over her right shoulder and steps forward so she is standing between Santana and the divider.

"Miss Santana?" Brittany asks, injecting as much confidence into her voice as she can manage. "Will you walk with me?"

Santana's glare immediately softens and she looks down to see the arm that Brittany is offering her. Brittany is nervous and knows that it's showing but she holds her position anyway. Her arm is getting heavy before Santana's eyes finally return to hers with a shy smile.

"Yes," Santana breathes out the word and Brittany knows her own grin couldn't get any wider.

Santana finally takes her arm and they fall into step. At the door, Brittany hesitates before dropping Santana's arm to open the door and guide her though. Her hand rests on the small of Santana's back and she has never felt so tall.

Through the door, Santana automatically takes Brittany's arm and links it with her own again. Santana smiles shyly up at her with her chin lowered so dark eyes are shining through the longest eyelashes Brittany has ever seen. In that moment Brittany feels so, so proud to be by Santana's side.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading. And for the Glee hiatus: Keep Calm and Remember Pinkie Promises.


	9. Make A Wish

AN: So I don't know how, but another chapter happened. I apologise for any mistakes. This chapter is much longer than my usual(just shy of nine thousand) and I'm editing and publishing aaat...three oh seven in the am. I'm afraid it gets a little angsty too. I'm warning you now cause there's some more fluffy fluff for the first half but it gets a little unpleasant after that. Remember how Santana is a prostitute? Yeah, that's still a thing and also Will Schuester was the sad guy at the bar in chapter three. M rating applies for dub con sexual content as well as violence and some course language. Look, I promise more fluff is gonna happen in further chapters but for now, shit's about to get real.

* * *

Dusk is settling in as we move outside. The air is still surprisingly warm given the time of year. The last rays of sun still filter through, creating golden pools of light among the shadows. I imagine if I were to step into one of them the light could actually cling to my skin.

More people are moving through the streets now than when I first entered the doctor's residence and the regular bustle of afternoon trade is oddly comforting. Brittany's hand is warm on my lower back. I feel the absence when she withdraws to close the door behind us.

Refusing to accept her being such a distance from me, I take up her arm and thread mine through it so we're joined at the elbow. The elated smile that dominates her expression makes my chest expand. I feel as though an unnamable something has taken up residence inside my chest; the moments when Brittany smiles at me(really smiles)makes the something expand until my chest could burst open and everyone could see my heart. It's simultaneously exciting and terrifying. I can't decide if this new friendship between us is changing me or if it's just my awareness of the burgeoning friendship that has changed since I'm older.

Every moment with Brittany makes me feel calmer. That warmth envelopes my chest and all I can concentrate on is keeping that warmth with me. I know that I'm only one stupid comment away from going to my place of rage but the gentling of my usual simmering anger is…a relief. The calm smile Brittany wears as we move outside is slowly becoming my guide. If I follow Brittany's lead, I'll know when my anger is unjustified; I'll know when it's okay to just—be. She sees everything under the brightest light and I can only imagine how beautiful everything must look from where she's standing.

Before we leave Rachel explains everything to Private Evans. Quinn is standing at Rachel's right arm, her hand resting over her elbow. Their proximity seems strange to me since I've rarely seen Quinn share any physical contact without being paid for it. It's possible that the same could be said for me though and my own arm is similarly linked with Brittany's so I don't bother to think on it any further.

Brittany leads me into the nearest block of golden light to wait for Rachel and Quinn.

"The light is beautiful here," she comments, looking straight at me.

"Where are you from?" I ask. We spent so long inside talking about where I grew up that I learned nothing of her own childhood.

She hesitates as though weighing up the dangers of answering honestly. I have to admit a certain admiration of her ability to do this every day; having to face the danger of revealing her secret in even the most innocuous conversations must be draining. She seems to embrace her role though. She has behaved so far as the perfect gentleman—or as close to a gentleman as I ever see in Clothier.

"I. Am from. San Francisco," she says slowly, weighing each word carefully as she says it.

I'm surprised and a little jealous. I've never been to anywhere nearly as interesting as San Francisco. I wait for her to expand on her experience but she doesn't. She just keeps looking at me; her eyes trace across my jaw, my cheeks, my lips.

She closes her eyes suddenly and turns her face into the setting sun. The light shines off her clear skin. I could envy her. She is the picture of the perfect white american. Or at least she would be if she were either the woman she is or the man she pretends to be.

In this territory, the colour of my skin makes me just another spic, contributing to the argument against the New Mexican Territory becoming a State. Working for Shelby has made me realise that every man and every woman has a place to fill in this world, even if that place is the cold side of a man's bed. I've accepted my place but Brittany's effortless beauty stirs something like jealousy in me.

I wish I could see her blonde hair in the light and free of the cap perpetually covering her head. I know it's a part of her disguise, but it's still something I could live without. Having seen the tight braid she binds her hair in, I could imagine her hair as long and flowing around her shoulders. In this light the length of her neck is highlighted with planes of light crossing where her collarbones are just visible behind her loosened collar.

I jump when Quinn's voice interrupts my observations, "Okay, he's a bit slow but I think he got it."

"He's not stupid," Brittany states firmly, turning toward Quinn. "He just talks slow." Her voice is low and I realise that she is talking as Brent, not Brittany.

She's staring at Quinn disapprovingly and I give her a similar look with a little more malice, just daring her to disagree.

"Okay then," Quinn says, looking between the two of us. "Not slow, just thorough. Can we get home already?"

I'm always somewhat jolted when one of the girls describes Corcorans as 'home'. As much as it's the closest thing to a home as I have, it still doesn't feel enough like mine for me to call it that. I calculate the time it will take us to return and I tighten my hold on Brittany's arm as I realise that it's not long enough.

Brittany glances down at me as we start walking, "I'd like to see you tomorrow, if I can." her voice is hopeful and returned almost to her natural tone as Quinn and Rachel fall back, talking amongst themselves.

"We usually have more than enough to get done in a day, so I doubt it," I answer quietly.

"Oh," she says looking decidedly dispirited.

"But the piano player is back from Sante Fe tomorrow and the girls always put on a show Wednesday nights," Brittany looks alarmed so I hurry on. "Not that kind of show!"

I feel my cheeks heat and Brittany's face is flushed an incredible red.

"It's just singing and some dancing," I explain. "Mercedes is quite an incredible singer and some of the girls sing together in like a chorus. Even Quinn has a nice voice, although a little softer. Sugar should never be allowed to sing but she does and it's incredible how awful she is and doesn't even realise. There's an Irish kid that likes to come and watch her. He sings too and is quite pretty, for a boy I guess," I trail off as I realise I'm babbling.

Brittany is looking down at me like I'm the most adorable idiot.

"Do you sing?" she asks.

I try to shake my head, even though I know that I am basically inviting her to come see us(including me) sing.

"Don't try and deny it Santana," Quinn's voice calls from behind us. "You love performing and you have an alright voice."

I roll my eyes, knowing that she's trying to provoke me and that it's working. My hand shifts to the crook of her arm and my step slows, dragging back Brittany's arm.

"Santana, I'd love to hear you sing," Brittany says in a quiet confession.

My focus shifts back to her instantly, that effulgence expanding in my chest.

Quinn scoffs, "Of course you would, and you should come to Corcorans tomorrow night. Kitten draws quite the crowd."

I really wish that Quinn would stop talking. "She's exaggerating." I explain. "They're not there for me."

"I would be there for you," Brittany says quietly so only I can hear her.

She looks down bashfully but only for a moment as she apparently steels herself before returning her gaze to mine. She smiles a confident smile and gives my hand another squeeze.

I loose all understanding of where we're moving to and simply watch Brittany.

She looks ahead to keep us moving in the right direction and safe of the potholes and mud puddles that litter the road. I know she'll keep us safe just like I know for certain that I am smiling like a fool. This woman I've known for such a short time is working her way into my consciousness. She is the one person I need to know me and I want to know everything about her.

I'm at a complete loss as to why we've stopped until Brittany turns to look at me. Seeing me staring at her, she tries to smother her smile but fails.

She chuckles lightly, "We're here Santana."

We've stopped altogether so Rachel and Quinn walk around us to move inside. They giggle together and I glare at them both, resisting the urge to stick my tongue out at Quinn.

The sun has disappeared while we've been walking and the first stars are winking to life in the sky. Brittany's face is softly illuminated on one side by the lantern light that pours out of Corcoran's expansive windows. She's looking into the sky, tracing over the first appearing stars.

"Did you make a wish?" she asks without looking at me.

"I don't make wishes," I say before I have the chance to reconsider.

A line appears between her brows. "Everyone should make wishes."

"Why Brittany? I can't change anything by wishing."

She frowns even more deeply and I regret being the cause of it.

"If you don't make wishes then how do you know what you want?" She point to her chest, "I can make a wish on a star and maybe the star makes it happen," she shrugs. "Or maybe by making a wish I'm the one to make what I want happen because I decided in that moment that I knew what I wanted."

I love her logic but I still don't think I'm going to make any wishes tonight.

She looks back to the sky. "Come with me," she says, nudging me up the few stairs and to the end of Corcorans front deck. She stands beside me, leaning her hips against the railing that wraps around the House.

"See San, It's the Dog Star. A perfect wish."

I look at her to make sure she knows I'm listening even if I don't understand, "But why a star Brittany?"

Brittany thinks about the question for a moment, chewing her lower lip in an increasingly familiar habit. "Have you ever thought that people who die keep watching over us? Like, when they aren't here anymore they still want to know what happens in our lives. I think that maybe the stars are a part of that. And the stars can see everything. If you stand on a rooftop you can see further than anyone else below you. The stars are even higher, so I reckon that they can see further than anyone else too. And this," She gestures to the sky as though the deep blue will represent everything she wants to say. "Is the dog star."

I look where she is gesturing and I can see stars but the dog star is lost amongst the rest. "I don't know where you're looking Sweets," she smiles at the return to her nickname.

Brittany glances between me and the sky before moving her body behind mine. My breath catches at the new, whole body proximity. Even with the narrow gap between us, I can still feel the heat of her body behind me.

I hear her take a deep breath and then her hand is resting against my left hip. She holds me still and adjusts herself around me. I turn just my head to look at her. She is looking over my shoulder, peering at the sky critically.

Her right hand lands on my shoulder. My fingers twitch but I hold still. Her hand runs over my shoulder then down; her palm and fingers wrap around my upper arm. Her hold loosens as she reaches my elbow and just her fingers run down my bare forearm. She reaches my hand and her fingers wrap around to my palm so she is essentially holding my hand in hers. I feel a smile spreading across my face which is perfectly matched to Brittany's.

She holds my hand and my gaze until a noise from inside the House breaks our concentration. She keeps a hold of my hand, manipulating my fingers so only my index finger is pointing away from my palm. She lifts both our hands and points out to the sky.

"The dog star," she says. "Is the brightest star in the night sky."

I look to where she is pointing and she presses more closely to me with her cheek almost pressed to my temple.

"Can you see the three stars all in a line?" she asks, tracing out three stars that have just become visible some height from the horizon.

My breath and voice are caught in my throat so I nod, knowing that she is close enough to feel it.

"That's Orion's Belt," she traces out more stars, "Orion is the hunter and you can see his shoulders and arms aaaaand the bow," her tone is becoming playful and she's pressing closer to me, her left hand wrapping further around my hip.

"So where does the dog come in?" I ask.

I can feel the grin twitch her cheek where it's pressed against me, the heat there is almost radiant, "I'm getting to it." She laughs, "See, Orion has a friend called Canis Major," she drops our hands lower in the sky to the brightest one we can see. She traces out a few more stars around it before returning to the brightest. "Canis is Orion's hunting dog, Sirius is his nose."

I nod my understanding and she stands up straighter. Her heavy boots make her so much taller than I am.

"Will you make a wish with me?" Brittany asks.

"What would I wish for?"

I turn my head far enough to feel her lips against my hairline. I pull her right hand with mine until she is wrapped around around me completely. I feel an incredible comfort in her arms that I didn't even know I could experience.

Brittany sighs and I can feel her warm breath on my skin. "You can wish for anything in the world," she says quietly pulling me firmly into her chest. "That's the beautiful thing about wishes. What do you want more than anything else?"

I hold Brittany's hands against my waist and struggle to think of anything that I want more than just this moment to last.

"I think that I would wish," I begin before Brittany shushes me gently.

"Wait, Santana. You can't say it out loud." she says, her voice softly scalding. "It won't come true."

I laugh easily, wondering how I feel about a wish I couldn't believe in not coming true. "But how will you help me make it true if I don't tell you?"

She shifts away far enough to look at me in confusion.

"Well," I say slowly. "I wish you to be my friend. That wish includes you."

Brittany blushes brightly and diverts her gaze to the street that I had forgotten about some time ago. After a few long moments she turns back to me, her expression has cleared and she smiles in the self confident way I'm finding increasingly charming.

"Well you don't have to wish for that. I'm already your friend." She smiles(really smiles) and gives a firm nod. "Now you need to make a real wish. Close your eyes."

I do as I'm told. In the absence of sight I can hear and feel so much more.

Brittany's jaw is grazing against my cheek again. "Now imagine that you are somewhere far away." I immediately think of San Francisco. "And it's the most beautiful day you have ever seen. The sun is shining down on you and there's a breeze that cools your skin." I imagine myself in a park on a hillside. "You are happy, content and have everything you could want."

"Are you there as well?" I ask in a breathy undertone.

"Absolutely, I am there to bring you endless bottles of sarsaparilla."

I snort at her unexpected joke. "I think this must be your wishing place Sweets," I suggest.

"Maaaaybe," she draws out in a sing song. She a-hems to announce her intention to restart, "So you're on your hill and I'm bringing you whiskey. On ice." I huff another laugh which she ignores. "Wiiith chocolate. What do you have with you?"

I imagine her scenario. "I have you," I say without thought.

She scoffs, "Your terrible at this game."

"Maybe I am. I just can't think of anything else, I guess."

— s — — b —

Brittany honestly doesn't know how she got here, wishing on stars with her ams wrapped around Santana's waist. She could swear that Santana must feel the beating of her heart even through her shirt and chest bindings. She's managed to control her breathing but the rest of her body's motions are all but lost on her. She imagines they could be dancing.

She takes a steadying breath as she imagines a wish for Santana. "We're outside, in the sun," she begins.

"On a hill," Santana adds.

Brittany grins and wraps Santana even closer to her, knowing that she is picturing the same wishing place she is.

"The sun is shining brightly like it was this morning and the light makes you appear even more radiant. You're wearing a beautiful dress and we're dancing." Brittany closes her eyes as the scene becomes clearer in her mind. "It's a waltz and the music is coming from a gramophone so there is no one else around."

"Are you still a soldier?" Santana asks curiously.

Brittany thinks about it for a moment. She honestly can't decide since she's only known Santana like this. As a Soldier.

"I would like to see you in a dress," Santana says quietly before ducking her head. Brittany can feel the heat radiating off her.

She can't help but laugh, even as she glances around them to make sure no one can hear.

She can imagine the scenario so clearly. Santana and herself in their own place with no one else to worry about. She knows for certain that Santana would prefer it and all Brittany wants is a chance to dance with her friend. She will lead the dance since she knows all the possible steps. Santana is happy to follow and be guided by Brittany in a way she would never accept tom anyone else.

"Would you sing?" Brittany asks, needing to complete her perfect picture.

Santana ducks her head again. "I don't know," she answers quietly.

Brittany doesn't push for an answer.

She shifts her stance, dropping closer to Santana's level so she can rest her chin on the smaller girl's shoulder. Her arms are held at Santana's waist with warm hands draped over her own. Santana tilts her head so she can rest against Brittany's temple. They watch together as more stars blink into existence and everything feels right.

"Brent?" a warm male voice breaks into their reverie.

Santana immediately loosens her hold on Brittany's arms and puts a distance between their bodies. The cool air seeps between them and Brittany's arms feel heavy at her sides. The strap of her rifle is suddenly cutting into her shoulder where it had been unnoticeable before.

She turns to see Sam standing at the bottom of the stairs, Sugar hanging from his arm. "Yeah, Sam. Umm, is it time to go back to camp?" she asks.

Sam looks between Brittany and Santana, "Yeah, Anderson sent Ben Israel after us to say that all Privates are to return to quarters tonight. Something about an inspection in the morning."

Brittany can feel Santana behind her, gripping her arm as though suddenly reluctant to see her go. Brittany knows the feeling, and she wishes she could stay longer too.

Brittany nod to Sam, carefully lowering the register of her voice, "Okay, we'll need to wait for Mrs Hudson to be finished with her meeting. Do you want me to go in and check after her?"

Sam shakes his head quickly, "No, no you wait out her. I'll collect her."

Sugar pulls at his arm, "Yeah, I'll show you to Shelby's office. It's in back. You can even open a tab with her," she looks up at him through her lashes. "If you want to."

Sam looks distinctly uncomfortable with that option but he visibly steels himself and nods firmly.

Before they can take a step, an older man with curly hair and a neat looking vest pushes past them.

"Sorry, excuse me," he says moving up the stairs and through the door.

"Poor fuck," Santana says harshly, coming to stand beside Brittany. She looks up at her questioning expression. "He's in love with another man's wife," she explains. "Always goes for the red haired girls with doe eyes. As if having it off with a woman that looks like her will somehow cure him of it."

Brittany realises that she had seen the man just that morning, cradling a whiskey at the bar.

Sugar waves it off as she drags Sam through the door after the sad looking man, "So long as he pays, who cares?"

Brittany sighs knowing that Sam will say whatever it takes to get Rachel(and himself) out of the House quickly. Gambling may be something of a vice but he doesn't seem to indulge in any others. Sugar's attentions are definitely unwanted and he won't want to linger amongst all the women inside.

Brittany turns to Santana, remembering that she won't see her again until tomorrow night at the earliest. It isn't a pleasant thought and she hopes that tomorrow will be busy enough to keep her mind occupied.

"Sam will be back soon," she explains quickly.

Santana glances toward the door and back again, her eyes appearing almost sad. "Tomorrow then?" she asks unsurely.

Brittany focuses on her resolution to be strong and worthy of Santana's friendship. "Tomorrow," she states with a committed nod. "Tomorrow night, I'll come back and I'll get to hear you sing." The bright smile that spreads across her face reflects the expansive warmth in her chest.

Santana glances down, "I—I don't want you to have raised expectations Sweets," she pushes a lock of dark hair behind her ear before she looks up agains. "I don't want to disappoint you," she says it like a promise.

"You could never," Brittany says in a low, almost reverent murmur.

"Well, in any case," Santana rushes past the moment. "I'll probably only get one song anyway. We all have to do our time circulating on the floor—" she cuts herself off. Brittany has noticed her do this a few time whenever she talks about the House—like she doesn't want to share that part of her life with her.

Truth be told, Brittany wants to know everything about Santana but she won't push her to reveal anything she isn't comfortable with.

"Is there dancing?" she asks quickly, thinking of their wishing place.

Santana looks at her speculatively, "Yes, but I don't know if—"

"Good," Brittany cut her off gently. "A man can ask for a dance can't he?" she asks, letting the happy mischief she feels colour her voice.

Santana nods unsurely.

The tiny flip in Brittany's stomach is something new but she ignores it for now as she says, "Well then, Miss Santana," she takes a dramatic step back and offers her a deep bow. "I beg of you the first dance of tomorrow evening."

Santana smiles then huffs out a nervous laugh at her antics. Brittany smiles that self assured smile which is slowly becoming natural around her new friend who always responds with a happy blush.

When Santana isn't forthcoming with any verbal response Brittany iterates the question, letting the hope shine in her features, "Will you dance with me Santana?"

Finally, Santana nods and Brittany envelopes her in an elated hug. There is a moment when Santana's arms remain held out away from her body and Brittany worries she has done the wrong thing in embracing her. Before she can let go Santana has let her arms drape over Brittany's shoulders, hugging her back with surprising strength.

The door opens and they both let go, springing apart with guilty expressions. It's unclear what either of them have to feel guilty about but it's there all the same.

Brittany turns to see Sam and Rachel standing in the doorway watching them. Sam is wearing a mildly disapproving frown but Rachel is grinning from ear to ear. Sam looks away and shuffles the rifle on his shoulder as he walks down the stairs to wait for them out of the light pouring from the doorway.

Rachel claps her hands together once, "Well this has been a delightful evening. Ms Corcoran has agreed to have me back to see you girls again so I'm thrilled to say that we'll be seeing much more of each other Santana." She looks between them again with a grin, "But please, don't let me interrupt your goodbyes. Brent, I expect you to offer Miss Santana an appropriate farewell."

With that she flounces down the stairs to join Sam watching them from the shadows. Brittany tries to ignore them both as she faces Santana with her confident smile back in place. Santana responds to the smile in the same way as before—with a blush that causes an unfamiliar but welcome flutter in Brittany's stomach.

"Goodnight Miss Santana," she says in her low Brent voice, knowing that the others can hear her. "I hope you have a pleasant evening and," she takes Santana's hand gently. "I'll be holding you to your promise of a dance."

She looks into Santana's deep brown eyes, searching for the courage she found earlier that morning. Everything she needs is there and she takes a deep breath before raising Santana's hand to her lips. The touch doesn't linger except in the tingle she feels on her mouth long after she returns Santana's hand to her side and steps out into the night.

She doesn't look back when she hears the door close behind her, skipping to join Rachel and Sam instead. Rachel grins at her happily and Brittany tries to remember her manly posture. Rachel isn't caring about appropriate posture apparently because she launches herself at Brittany, wrapping her arms around Brittany's waist enthusiastically.

"Oh that was so lovely!" she squeals excitedly. "Oh and you're going to dance. Can you dance? Oh this is so exciting. But you can dance right?" Her expression is serious by the time she gets to her last question.

Brittany nods eagerly, taken over by Rachel's enthusiasm "Of course I can dance."

Feeling reckless—and given the liberties that Rachel had already taken—Brittany takes her right hand and guides the other one to her shoulder. She takes Rachel's waist and turns them in a quick polka. Rachel follows easily and Brittany takes the chance to twirl them around twice before letting go and spinning herself away in an ecstatic pirouette. She lands with two flat feet and her arms wrapped around herself. She feels giddy with the events of the evening and excitement for tomorrow. Santana is her greatest friend and the night is simply perfect.

— s — — b —

I close the door behind me and press my heated body to the timber. I need to calm my hammering heart before it explodes from my chest. I step back from the door taking steadying breaths but that feeling in my chest is just too big. I feel the expanding feeling reaching bursting point and suddenly I'm bouncing in tiny little jumps on the spot, my hands clasped under my chin. I cease my bouncing but my feet make a further little shuffle without my permission and my shoulders make alternating little shrugs to an inaudible beat.

I'm grinning from ear to ear as I turn to face the room. Everyone is looking at me and I could swear my heart stops. I blink and the room shifts. Only a few of the girls are looking at me while all the patrons and most of the girls are attending their usual activities.

Quinn is one of the few that witnessed my less than refined entrance and she rushes forward, hooking my elbow and dragging me through the door that leads to our private rooms. I try to pry myself loose but Quinn is surprisingly strong for such a skinny woman.

She shoves me into our room, "Okay, what happened. You have to tell me everything."

"I do not," I say automatically, stripping off my skirt and blouse.

"So there is something to tell?" she asks seriously, handing me the short, deep blue skirt I wear in the saloon.

I feel my cheeks heat at her assertion and I hope that my complexion covers it.

Apparently it doesn't because Quinn claps her hands together, "Oh my goodness there is!" she squeals in an excitement similar to Rachel's. I scowl knowing that they must be conspiring against me. "Oh tell me everything! Did he kiss you? Did he ask you to marry him?"

I blanch at the first question and the second strikes me dumb.

Before I can form a coherent thought Shelby appears at the open door, "There you are. Get out on the floor now. You're already running late," she says, exasperation clear in her voice. "Soldiers or not, we're still a business. That Lieutenant has called the lot of them back to camp tonight which means we need to get as much as we can out of the regulars."

I move to obey quickly, eager to escape the conversation with Quinn. I slip into the skirt and check the row of clasps at the front of my exposed corset.

Shelby stops me before I get within sight of the door, "Will is at the bar," she says mildly, nodding at Quinn as she breezes by.

"Yeah, I saw him come in," I say, confused about where she's going with this statement.

"I want you to take care of him," she says in that business like tone she uses when she's asking for something we won't like.

"But Harmony is usually—"

"He's saying he won't have another girl that reminds him of Emma. Kurt reckons he tried to talk him round but he won't budge. You know how Will get sometimes."

"Can't one of the other girls—"

Again Shelby cuts me off, "No, you're the only one that I'm going to trust with this."

That word 'trust' always provokes a reaction in me when Shelby uses it. If a woman I respect can have trust in me than maybe I'm worth something.

I'm about to agree but Shelby continues, "Just because you've taken a liking for some fresh faced soldier boy doesn't mean you don't have work to do."

Brittany.

I shake my head, "No, Shelby it's not like that."

"Please, I saw that entrance you made not five minutes ago. I also know that you were outside with that soldier because Rachel told me as much," there is a flicker of some emotion when she mentions Rachel but it's gone too quickly for me to grasp as she continues. "I don't want him distracting you."

The way she says 'distracting' makes me sure she means something else less favourable and I react accordingly, "So you're punishing me for being friendly?" I ask, the anger growing quickly in me.

Shelby seems to recognise the switch in my tone and she quickly adjusts her own to the commanding one that only comes out when I'm raging at someone. "That's enough Santana. I'm not punishing you. I just need you on this tonight. Every other suitable girl is busy with something or someone else and I am trusting you to take care of Will."

That word trust comes out again and I straighten my posture as I nod, "Fine, I'll help Mopey McSadface forget about his little not-sweetheart and to find a bed for the night."

Shelby nods her approval and I turn to move into the saloon. I yelp as Shelby gives me a slap on the backside on my way.

I look over to the bar where Kurt is wiping glasses and nodding at whatever it is Will Schuester is mumbling into his drink. My job is clear and it's one I'm good at. I need to be charming and enticing enough to get Will to forget his red head and go for me instead.

I think of Brittany and send up a quiet prayer that she never has to know about the things I do when I'm not with her. She made me forget for a short time that my place is here, among the wretches, bastards and doxies. When she pointed to the stars and asked me to make a wish I couldn't think of any because I know where I belong. I already know what the rest of my life will include. As beautiful a picture as Brittany can paint, nothing is going to change for me.

I smooth down my skirts and make adjustments at the top of my corset for the best effect. Satisfied, I approach Will at the bar.

— s — — b —

Brittany reins in her dancing feet before they get to camp. The warmth in her body and her fast beating heart remain though and she can't fight the grin on her face. Rachel has taken Brittany's arm as they walk and is babbling some nonsense. Brittany wants to listen because Rachel seems to be talking about her time with Santana's friend, Quinn and Santana's boss, Ms Corcoran. Brittany hears some words but finds it ultimately too difficult to concentrate as she runs through every moment of the last few hours in her mind.

At the Major's tent Rachel gives Brittany's arm a friendly squeeze and nods to Sam in farewell, "Goodnight to you both, I very much hope you have an excellent night's rest."

"Thank you Mrs Hudson. Goodnight," Sam replies for them both with a polite nod.

As soon as she disappears, Sam stalks off toward the Soldiers' tents. Brittany is confused by his stiff posture and quick movements. He is never cold or abrupt with her and yet he has been both the whole walk back to camp.

"Wait, Sam. What's wrong?" she says in Brent's voice chasing after him.

She reaches for his arm but he turns on her as soon as her hand makes contact. "Leave it be Brent," he says abruptly.

Brittany is shocked, "Leave what be? I don't understand."

"Of course you don't, you don't understand anything."

Brittany retracts her reaching arm instantly, the hurt dimming the glow that Santana had left in her. "I understand things Sam," she says defensively. "I just don't understand you right now."

Sam huffs, "You said you were't going to court her," he says in a hushed angry voice as they enter the long row of tents. The brightness from the moon shows the disappointment on his face.

Santana.

"I—I'm not," she says in an equally hushed voice, aware of the fact that there could be soldiers asleep around them.

Sam storms off with a growl but Brittany continues to follow him, needing to understand.

"I'm not Sam, I promise. I don't even know how I would do that. I don't know anything about," she can't help but blush as she concludes, "Pursuing a girl."

Sam scoffs indignantly, "Well you seemed to be doing a fine job from where I was standing."

Brittany thinks of how she was holding Santana when Sam and Sugar found them outside Corcorans. "It's not what it looked like," she tries to explain.

Sam just shakes is head and walks away, leaving Brittany staring after him. She hates that she couldn't explain herself properly. It's so frustrating when her words always fail her. Sam is usually so patient with her so she doesn't have to worry about finding exactly the right thing to say straight away. Tonight, he just wouldn't hear her out and it hurts.

— s — — b —

"William Schuester," I say in the low, husky voice I know will attract his attention. "I heard you were taking up space at our bar tonight."

Will turns and his eyes skate over my bare shoulders and slim waist. He grins blearily and I know I have him. He's already drunk enough that it will be pretty easy to get him to pay for a night.

"Heeeey, pretty lady," he drawls. "Are you joining little old me for a—for a drink?"

I lean back against the bar, with my elbows resting on top of the polished wood.

"I sure am if you're buying, Will," I say with a grin that really just exposes my teeth.

Will gestures for Kurt to get another glass and to refill his own drink. Kurt obliges, giving me a friendly wink and a nod.

"Porcelain," I say as a greeting.

"Kitten," he says in response, with a wicked smirk.

I glare at him but he merely purses his lips to blow me a kiss as he slides my drink towards me, "Fine, Satan." He nods to the whiskey, "Don't finish it all at once."

I huff out a laugh as I grab the glass, downing the fiery liquid in one long draught. "I'll sip the next one, I promise."

Kurt just shakes his head as he pores another drink and then leaves the bottle on the bar between Will and I.

I watch Will as he stares at his glass, deciding the direct approach will be best considering his current level of intoxication. "How about you and I go find a nice quiet room to talk about what's troubling you Will?" I can't help but add, "And not just the part about your endless supply of vests."

Will nods but Kurt clears his throat to regain my attention.

"What is it Kurt?" I ask though my teeth. "I'm working here."

"Well that's actually what I wanted to just mention. Will has already paid for the bottle," he hesitates and I'm sure I already know the rest. "And for two hours," he concludes.

It's something of a relief, and not because Kurt just made things much simpler for me. Will usually buys the whole night for better or worse. Harmony says he like the whole 'wife' experience and I think he's a sap. A few hours means a quick fuck, maybe a blow job then I can spend the rest of the night in my own bed and forget anything ever happened.

I pick up the bottle, "What do you say Will? Join me for a few more drinks in a more comfortable…position?"

It's not my smoothest line ever but Will is barely listening anyway. He nods dumbly and follows as I walk toward the stairs.

— s — — b —

Brittany takes the wrong turn twice before she finds her tent among the maze of white canvas. She's glad for not the first time that she doesn't share a tent anymore. Her original, idiot tent-mate had received a dishonourable discharge after he shot himself and another soldier in the leg. It's a complete mystery how he managed it and Brittany is just glad she wasn't involved.

She ducks inside and lays her rifle under her cot, glad to be rid of it's weight finally. She wants nothing more than to lie down, forget about Sam and dream of star wishes and secret waltzes.

"Brent," a voice whispers from outside her tent.

The whisper is too low for her to recognise but she hopes it's Sam. She slips out of the tent flaps into the silver tinted tent rows. Where she expects to find Sam she sees Private Karofsky. And he isn't alone.

A group of five muscled men are all standing around Karofsky with dark looks and threatening stances. Brittany holds back a whimper, knowing what this is. As she looks around the group, she recognises the men that have been so physical in their every-day tormenting of Brent. They are the ones that throw hurtful words at her and ram her shoulder at every opportunity. One had even let her fall from a high wall they were meant to be scaling in a training exercise once. Brittany walked away only winded that time. She knows that tonight she won't be so lucky.

She takes a slow step back with her arms raised, palms out. "Hey guys what's going on?" she asks, hoping that her first assumptions are wrong.

"We're just taking a little moonlit stroll," Karofsky answers with a smirk.

The other men chuckle as though he's made an excellent joke.

"W—Well it's a nice night for it," Brittany tries to remain calm.

She thinks of Santana and the self-assured person she was this afternoon. She stops walking backwards and straightens her shoulders.

The group stops with her and she wonders if all they need is for her to stand up to them. Maybe if she makes a stand and demands, with a little authority that they stop then they will.

"Okay, fellas," she starts firmly. "I think it's time for everyone to be back in their cots. Lieutenant wants us fresh for inspection."

Karofsky nods with a serious expression and Brittany's heart leaps. She has them.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea Pierce," he starts but then his serious expression rapidly turns into a sneer. "Or, we can beat the crap out of you and make sure you don't make it to inspection at all."

"Yeah," one of the other soldiers adds, "Without you there makin a mockery of the uniform, we might have a chance to pass."

They all laugh and Brittany knows she doesn't have a chance. She can't fight against them, she can't talk them out of beating her senseless.

"I think you're right boys. Without Pierce there making us look bad with his freakish ability to run through trees like a dizzy little fairy, we might have a good morning."

Karofsky's words give Brittany an idea and before any of them can move she breaks into a sprint away from them.

— s — — b —

I open the door and let Will in a head of me. He flops onto the bed and I follow after him, placing the two glasses and half empty whiskey bottle on the bedside cabinet. I consider hunting for a book before remembering that I won't have to be here that long.

I internally sigh, deciding to get this over and done with. Any luck will have him pass out after the first go around. I won't even have to kiss him on the lips.

I can feel Will's eyes on me and I take another swig of Whiskey directly from the bottle. I feel his hand on the back of my thigh and I take another hit. The burning is dull now and my thoughts are swimming happily.

I wonder if Brittany got back to her tent safely. She had her rifle and Evans with her but who knows what that horrid little Rachel woman may have dragged her into.

I release the clasps on my corset, simply because I can and place it carefully on a chair by the wall. It's more expensive than anything else I own and I won't have some drunk asshole fuck it up.

I know that Brittany liked the texture of the fabric and I have to admit I do as well. It's more delicate than most and I'm lucky to have it, even if it is horribly uncomfortable some days.

I debate removing my Chamise to move things along but decide that the room is too cool yet to be so naked. Will's left hand is moving quickly up my thigh anyway and he rounds my hip eagerly, his other hand appearing on my right.

I turn to find him knealing on the bed in front of me. He's almost on level with me standing on the ground and he takes advantage of that by pulling my hips forward and grinding into me roughly. Years of practice keeps the grimace from my face as his lips move to my shoulder and he kisses across my collar bone.

— s — — b —

Brittany runs as fast as she can, desperately searching for the gap in the tents that will lead her to the tree line. If she can just get into the trees she could outrun them easily. The cool night air is burning through her lungs and she can hear the men running after her.

She knows that Karofsky isn't the fastest but she also realises that no matter who catches her the beating will be the same. She pushes herself, sprinting through row after row of tents, desperately searching for a landmark she recognises.

Her boots slow her down since she's gotten used to sprinting bare foot for their horseshoe exercises. She hopes that she'll still be able to get through the trees and up into the branches with them on. The heavy thudding of her heart can't drown out the heavy footsteps of the men chasing her. She doesn't know how but they're gaining.

She thinks of all the training she did with Anderson that morning. The heavy lifting and the exercises with the Medicine Ball. She was completely drained and she needed at least a night's rest to recover.

The tree line comes into sight and she gasps in relief. Only fifty more yards and she'll be able to get ahead and lose them amongst the underbrush.

Something heavy hits her square between the shoulders and she stumbles before sprawling to the ground. She feels the dirt grab at the skin of her hands and wrists, tearing the skin as she tries to catch herself. Her cap falls from her head and she turns to lie on her back, feeling utterly winded.

The man that caught up to her is quick to press his boot on her chest and Brittany groans under the weight of it. She tries to push it off her but there is nothing she can do. Her arms fall weak and useless to the ground beside her as the angry face, thick neck and broad shoulders of Private Karofsky come into view, blocking out the stars.

— s — — b —

The hands at my hips become more insistent, grasping at the cloth that covers them. His lips move up my neck to my jaw and then my cheeks. His chin is rough with stubble and irritates the skin at my temples. Brittany's skin had been so soft against mine.

I push the Trick back, so he falls against the bed again. I run my hands over his thighs then up over his stomach and chest. I straddle him so I can remain in control of the situation. He is instantly at my chest, one hand grasping at my breast as the other one presses at my waist to pull me toward him. His hand is hard and insistent. Brittany's hand was a supporting guide.

He pulls me against him until his hot bulge is pressed intimately against me. I resist the urge to shudder away from him as his lips suck at the skin of my throat. The hand at my waist shifts up to the back of my head, forcing me into a kiss.

He must feel my resistance and in an unexpected show of strength he flips our position so I'm on my back. He's too drunk for the manoeuvre to be performed with any grace and I'm almost winded beneath him. He kisses me more forcefully and I kiss him back; doing my job; making him feel wanted.

His hand moves between us to tug at his belt and I pray once again that Brittany won't ever really know what I do when I'm not with her.

— s — — b —

A boot connects with Brittany's side and her first thought is that it wasn't as bad as she expected. Then she realises that it wasn't a part of the beating, it was an instruction.

She lurches to her feet and her arms are immediately grasped by two of the men.

Karofsky stands in front of her with hate in his eyes. "Why can't you just be normal?" he says laying the first punch into her stomach.

"You run around getting special treatment from the Lieutenant," He lays a blow to the side of Brittany's head which makes her see stars. She wishes on the stars for the strength to survive.

"You take prize after prize from those who," Karofsky grunts as his fist impacts under her ribs. "Deserve them more than you," another blow lands on her her jaw but she is too winded to even cry out. "And work so hard to just be," a sickening crack sounds as his fist lands square on Brittany's nose. He slams another fist into her abdomen as he spits out his final word, "Accepted."

Brittany spits out the blood that has run into her mouth from her bleeding nose, "I didn't do anything to you." she says breathlessly.

"You did enough," he says as he buries his fist into her stomach again.

— s — — b —

The Trick's belt is loose in a moment and his kisses get sloppier as he gets the first button on his pants undone. I decide to help get them off faster and move my hands from where they were pressing against his chest down to his buttons.

As soon as my bracing hands are gone though, Will collapses on top of me, his arms trapped between us.

I push him aside forcibly when I realise that he is unconscious and snoring like a bear. The alcohol finally took care of him so I don't have to.

I climb off the bed and straighten out my skirts. I pick up my corset and leave the room with Whiskey bottle in hand, propping the door open so Shelby's boys will find Will and throw him outside. It's a shame, really to see such a fine vest dumped in a horses trough. I take another sip of the burning alcohol straight from the bottle. I gasps out a breath on the burn and think how Brittany would probably cough even worse. My second swig doesn't feel quite as harsh and I can feel the numbing effects of the alcohol returning to my system.

— s — — b —

Brittany wonders why she hasn't passed out yet, but she can only suppose it's because most of Karofsky's blows have been limited to her abdomen, ribs and side. He's avoided her face for the most part and thankfully missed the junction of her legs altogether. If he had decided to knee her there, who knows what he might have figured out.

Karofsky has finally had enough and he orders the men holding Brittany to drag her back to her tent. She doesn't know why he does, but she is thankful for it, not sure she could have found it on her own again.

When they release her arms Brittany limps up to her tent, the pain in her body making it so difficult to keep the tears held in her eyes. She can't let any of them see her cry. Brent doesn't cry, no matter how much they hurt him no matter what they do. Brittany won't cry either.

She pulls back the flaps at her tent and dives inside. Her cot squeaks loudly in protest as she falls onto it. her ribs ache and she is worried some may be broken. She's sure to have some incredible bruises if nothing else. Her nose has stopped bleeding and she's pretty confident that it isn't broken, just a little swollen.

Her thoughts go to Santana as they inevitably have done all day. She presses the less bruised side of her face into her pillow, pushing her hair back from the other side. She wishes Santana were here. She wishes that Santana's hand was running through her hair.

The first tear finally falls and Brittany grasps onto her blankets tightly, wishing with all her heart that she could hold Santana close to her like she had done just a short time earlier. Holding Santana would make everything better.

She wishes that time would speed up so that tomorrow was now and she could hear Santana sing. She's so sure that Santana's singing will be just as captivatingly beautiful as her dark hair in the star light is.

Santana. The incredible girl she'll be dancing with tomorrow.

* * *

AN: Okay, so that turned out to be even more traumatic than I anticipated. The story just went that way I'm afraid. I promise our girls will return to each other soon.


	10. In The Pines

AN: woah, okay, another 3am finish on this one guys. So sorry for any errors.

Thanks so much for all the reviews. I'm sorry to all the people I left feeling upset with the last chapter. Angst and drama lead to lovely fluff though.

No content warnings on this one, yay! Although I use the lyrics for a song that is maybe a little dubious. It's appropriate for the year this story is set.

I highly recommend going to youtube and playing Nirvana's Live MTV recording.

I humbly present to you Chapter 10: In The Pines.

* * *

I don't know what time it is when Quinn comes in the room and separates me from my whiskey. She holds it to the light and i can see that I've only had a few more sips from it. I've pretty much passed out on my bed and the room is spinning dangerously so it feels like I've drunk much more. It occurs to me that I didn't really eat anything yesterday. I was far too distracted with…something. My alcohol addled mind fails to provide the specific information.

"Hello my friend." I peer blearily up at Quinn. "My friend Quinn Fabray is the best friend in the world." I think about hugging her but my arms are heavy.

"Oh sweetie, you're really done aren't you?" she says with a sad smile.

I realise that Mercedes is in the room when she laughs, "Kurt says she was already half wallpapered after five minutes on the floor."

I stick out my tongue to make an altogether unladylike noise, "Porcelain doesn't know anything about anything cause he's just a…bumboy." I squint at Mercedes in a stern glare that makes her grin. I don't like it.

I pout and then slap at Quinn's arm, "Use your glare at Mercedes for me Quinn. Mines broken."

"Something's broken alright," Quinn murmurs quietly, pushing hair back from my forehead. "Lie down and go back to sleep San. If you're going to be all bright eyed for your Soldier Boy tomorrow, then you're going to have to sleep some of this off."

"Pfft, Sweets is my dearest friend and sh—he will be, even when I'm drunk." I explain the obvious to Quinn. "He is the best friend I have in the whole world."

"And here I thought I was your best friend in the whole world. I'm hurt Santana,"

I feel my heart break for my friend Quinn and tears well in my eyes, "Oh but you are!" I exclaim launching myself to hug her tightly around the waist, "Sweets is my best friend in the world with Wishing places and you're my best friend in the world that I don't talk to. You know?" My voice rises in a high pitched squeak.

"Oh, there's wishing places now?" Mercedes is settling into her own bed, watching us.

I nod my head against Quinn's stomach. "Beautiful wishing places with dancing," I demonstrate the dancing by twirling two fingers across the palm of my hand. It doesn't quite play out how I want because my arms are still wrapped around Quinn but I'm sure they get it.

Quinn's hands are resting on my back, making soothing circles between my shoulder blades and I can feel my eyes drifting closed again.

"Sweets is thoughtful and beautiful and brought me flowers because my hair is pretty." I sigh contentedly, wishing I had my arms wrapped around a different blonde. "But you're okay too Quinn."

Quinn chuckles, "Stop being so sweet Santana, you're going to give me a tooth ache."

— s — — b —

Brittany wakes to a sloping white ceiling that is far too bright for her eyes. Her whole body aches.

She doesn't know where she is or why her bed feels so strange. It's narrow and hard and everything smells like grass and dirt and blood.

"Brent, why didn't you wake me up?" she tries to call out but her voice is nothing but a husky croak.

She lifts a hand to her nose and grimaces at the crusted blood and swollen tenderness.

Her first instinct is to call for her Dad or her brother but she abruptly realises that they can't answer her. She doesn't remember why but it seems important somehow.

She looks down and sees heavy, unfamiliar boots. She tries to jerk her feet away but they come with her and she realises she is actually wearing them. She's also wearing a uniform made of a heavy blue fabric with shining buttons. She's even wearing trousers with a belt which is wholly unfamiliar.

Her heart is thundering in her chest. She looks around the tiny room she's woken up in, suddenly registering the fact that it isn't her bedroom.

She isn't in San Francisco and she isn't in her home. Understanding crashes into her. Her Dad and her brother Brent are both dead and gone. She doesn't live in San Francisco any more. She's in her camp with the rest of her company. Karofsky and the other men who caught and beat her must be nearby. She wonders if they're sleeping.

She pulls her father's dented pocket watch from the haversack under her cot, wincing as the movement causes her scabbard to dig into her. It's still early enough that there is probably no one awake yet except for the Mess cook and his helpers.

Brittany braces with her arms to sit up. Her body feels like one giant bruise. She loosens the last buttons that hadn't already fallen off her jacket but is too scared to lift up her shirt and see the damage to her abdomen. There's blood down her front from her nose and she knows she needs to get clean.

She grabs her clean uniform, her box of soap and the small piece of mirror that she hangs from the tent when pretending to shave. She doesn't look at the damage done to her face, just bundles the mirror up in her uniform and leaves the tent.

The trip to the creek feels much longer than it did last time and she's worried about getting back to her tent before duty call. She hobbles faster and ignores the darkness fluttering at the edge of her vision. She's certain it's caused by the searing pain in her abdomen. Once she can immerse herself in the cool water of Clothier Creek she'll be okay.

She'll be okay.

The bubble of the creek could be in Brittany's imagination, she wants it so much. The trees are dense in the spot she's looking for making it more secluded but also more difficult to get to. She follows the markings she left in the trees, stripping the jacket from her shoulders.

The rushing water gets louder until she's finally standing on the edge of the creek. It's a beautiful spot where the water pools in a deep natural reservoir before continuing down a small waterfall of maybe three feet.

Brittany immediately drops to a dry boulder by the pool, setting her service jacket behind her. She quickly removes her heavy boots and socks, wincing as the fabric comes away with layers of skin that had blistered when she was running through camp the night before. It's an already unpleasant reminder and she dreads seeing the damage to her face.

She distracts herself by dunking her socks in the water to rinse them to a state of relative cleanliness. She wrings them out thoroughly and hangs them from a branch exposed to filtering sunlight. She needs to do the same for her chest bindings but she loosens her belt carefully first, placing it on another dry rock behind her.

She untucks her undershirt from her trousers so she get her hands under and gingerly loosen the bandages from her chest. They're caked with blood from her nose and she understands now why she feels so weak. She must have lost a lot of blood along with receiving the bruises and possibly fractured rib. The bandages uncoil from her chest, sticking to her skin on the last layers and irritating the skin where the texture is permanently etched.

When Brittany bundles up the bandages and lowers them into the cold water, a cloud of murky brown leaches out of them. With a little soap she gets some of the stains out but they'll never be anything close to white. The bandages go over the branch with her socks and she strips off her shirt and trousers while mentally preparing herself for the cold.

Her bruises are going to ache terribly but she knows she needs this. She has to get the blood from her body, she needs to be clean of everything that represents her run in with Karofsky.

— s — — b —

I feel a jolt of panic when I open my eyes and see a tangle of blonde hair in front of my face. My arms are wrapped around a warm female body with my own pressed against it. I try to withdraw my hand slowly but it's suddenly held in a strong grasp.

"Don't San, that tickles." Quinn's croaky morning voice has never made me feel such relief.

She lets go of my hand so I can draw away from her, to the edge of my bed. My back hits the wall and the pounding headache of my hangover hits me back on the wall's behalf.

Quinn rolls over to face me, rubbing at her eyes.

"Quinn, why are you in my bed?" I ask probably already knowing the answer.

"You demanded that the best friend that you don't really talk to sleep riiiight here," she pats the mattress between us.

I roll my eyes, "And you couldn't have refused?" I ask, looking her over to see that she managed to get down to her chamise before getting into my bed.

Quinn follows my gaze, "Oh no, Santana you removed my outer clothes for me. You were rather indelicate too. I hope you aren't as rough with the Tricks," she looks thoughtful for a moment. "Unless that's what they prefer..." she trails off, obviously giving serious thought to the possibility.

"Don't try to think about the kind of fuck I am Quinn Fabray. It'll just hurt your poor pious mind," I try to smirk at her but the effort makes my head pound even worse than before. I settle for shoving Quinn hard, essential forcing her to the floor.

— s — — b —

The water is freezing but manageable as Brittany tries to wash herself clean without aggravating any bruises. None of the marks seem to be raised under her fingers and she feels glad that her injuries aren't any worse. She scoffs at the conclusion that Karofsky hits like a girl.

She releases her hair from its braid and ducks under the waters surface, infinitely glad that the pool is deep enough for her to wade comfortably. The cool water sloshing around her nose feels even worse than it does on the bruises on her body. With careful finger she cleans her face and neck of blood and grime until no more brown is tainting the water.

The pain is lessening gradually and she lets herself drift in the in the gentle current, her undershirt and drawers billowing around her. She'd love to remove both and simply swim naked but the danger of discovery is far too present. The white fabric would not protect her from a keen observer but she hopes that the average soldier would not be looking that closely.

She lets her body sink a few feet beneath the surface and stares up at the canopy of trees shifting above the water. The image is disjointed with the surface ripples and there are narrow streaks of golden, shimmering light where the early morning sum has filtered trough. It's beautiful enough to make Brittany forget about the aches of her body. She watches and waits—she doesn't know what for—carefully storing the images in her mind. She commits every colour, movement and glint of light to her memory like a jeweller commits a precious gem to its velvet case.

She wishes she could bring her friend here. She's certain that Santana needs to see something beautiful in this place. She seemed so resigned to living out her life in Clothier and Brittany understands that she probably will, no matter how it makes her heart ache. If Santana must stay here then maybe Brittany can help her see the beauty in it.

She floats peacefully until her lungs are burn then returns to the surface. She loves the feeling of relief as air returns to her lungs when her body is grateful for just this breath. It's a strange feeling of contentment that runs through her and she holds that feeling for as long as possible knowing the pain from the patchwork of bruises will reappear soon. She puts off leaving the pool for as long as possible; when she starts to shiver she knows it's time.

She clambers back onto the rocks and water streams off her body, tickling down her back and legs to stain the grey rocks to black. She wrings out her long hair and shakes some of the excess water from her arms. She avoids her dry clothes, skirting the pools edge carefully until she finds a small patch of sun. She glances around and listens out for any sounds of intruders. Finding no signs of anyone approaching she strips her undershirt and squeezes as much water from it as she can. She uses the fabric to towel away some of the moisture from her face and body before slipping it back over her head.

Her drawers are a bit more difficult since she isn't nearly brave enough to remove them from her body while out in the open like this. She makes do by gathering the fabric at every available interval and squeezing the moisture from there. It takes a while but it's an appropriate distraction from the persistent pain in her body.

As much as she would like to remain forever by this pool with filtered sunlight warming her skin she has to return to camp. The sun keeps getting higher and the song of morning birds is fading into the hum of daytime insects. She's resigned herself to missing breakfast but any later will get her in trouble. The state of her service coat will be enough to see her reprimanded for sure.

She sighs resignedly and makes her way back to her uniform. The mirror is still wrapped carefully inside. She picks it up, turning it so she can see the sky and trees reflected. She turns it until the reflection of the sun in the water is reflected again in the glass. She likes to think that the light already reflected twice could be reflected a third time in her eyes.

She twists the piece of mirror until it finally reflects her own face. Her gasp is involuntary. The bruises are far worse than she realised.

— s — — b —

I spend the rest of my morning in the midst of mundane routine. We eat breakfast, we clean, Sugar hums incessantly.

"Sugar would you give it a rest?" I ask, dipping my scrubbing brush in the bucket of sudsy water.

"Why would I do that when I know it annoys you so much?" she laughs. Quinn and Mercedes join her.

It's on hangover days that I *really* hate sharing chores with these women. My head is still pounding and the gallon of water I drank with my dry toast this morning is yet to take effect.

"Leave her be," Mercedes scalds through her continued chuckles as she dusts.

"Again, I ask why?" Sugar says, tilting her head to one side as though truly curious.

I growl angrily, "Because I will smother you in your sleep?"

They ignore my mumbled threats as Quinn answers Sugar, "She's just nervous because Private Pierce is going to be in attendance this evening. It's Kitten's season debut after all, maybe she's gotten a little rusty."

I hadn't actually been nervous, just hung over but now I am. "Thanks so much Quinn. I'm really glad you brought that up." I say with as much sarcasm as I can manage.

"No problem San," she smiles at me as I attempt to burn holes into her forehead.

— s — — b —

Brittany can hear the camp before she sees it. As she approaches, the clinking of mess utensils reassures her that she's not too late in returning. She skirts around the edge of camp as quickly as she can with her hobbled stride. Thankfully it's much easier to find her tent in daylight and she's able to deposit her service uniform inside. She resolves to deal with it later.

She flinches when she hears heavy boots running toward her but when she looks up it isn't Karofsky or any of his men coming towards her. It's Sam and he looks upset. She instantly worries that something has happened to Santana. It's a moment before she can remind herself that even if something were to happen Sam wouldn't be the one to find out. His dismissive words last night made it pretty clear that he doesn't approve of Santana or Brent's friendship with her.

Brittany squares her shoulders, ignoring the pain in her abdomen as she stands up straight, "What do you want Sam?"

She realises as she says the words that she is angry with him. It's a strange feeling that she never would have thought could extend to Sam. He's been her only friend since she joined and the idea that they might not be any more is disheartening. She won't forgive him though until he admits that Santana is a good person.

He stumbles to a halt within a few feet of her, shock registering strongly in his expression. "What happened to your face?"

Brittany lifts a hand to her swollen jaw, "Just a run in with Karofsky."

"Just a run in?" he repeats. "Brent, the side of your face looks like you've been hit by a brick."

"Funny, that's a lot like what it feels like," the anger is still simmering in her gut, making her words short and harsh.

"You need to go to Lieutenant Anderson and report him for—"

"No, I don't. This is my problem. I'm not going to run off to Anderson every time I get hassled by some jerk with a bruised pride." It's possible that Brittany's own pride may have been hurt by Karofsky's suggestion that she's been receiving special treatment from the Lieutenant.

It seems strange to consider that she is more angry with Sam right now than the men responsible for her injuries.

"Why do you care anyway Sam? I'm sorry if this is just one more thing that escapes my understanding."

Sam looks down, his hurt evident. It makes Brittany hurt right along with him and her anger cools slightly.

"What do you want Sam?" she asks in an angry breath.

"Look Brent, I'm sorry about what I said. It was out of line."

"It was," She agree firmly. She stands as that confident self she is with Santana when she speaks again in Brent's voice, "My friendship with Santana is important to me and none of your business, Sam."

"But it is Brent. I don't want you to be hurt." he looks obviously at my bruised face. "And it looks like you already have been."

"Santana didn't cause this," She says quickly.

"I know, I know. That's not what I meant," Sam holds his hands up defensively. "I'm your friend too and I don't want you getting attached to someone who might not…share your affections."

Brittany tries to see through her anger and understand where Sam is coming from.

"But she wants to be my friend too," she says slowly.

"But can't you see, she's a girl who," he seems to struggle in finding the right words. "She sells herself for money, Brent. She makes her living from men like you or I who fall for her then shell out our whole pay cheques just to be with her. She is the definition of sin," his voice is earnest in his declarations.

Brittany won't listen to any of it, "No Sam, I don't know what I can say to convince you but you're wrong. Santana is a good, kind, honest person and she wouldn't lie to me."

Sam sighs, resignation clear on his face. "Fine, I guess I can't convince you either." He looks at the ground for several long moments and Brittany patiently waits for him. "I want to be there for you Brent. If that means accepting whatever it is that Santana means to you then…I guess I want to do that." He holds out his hand, "Will you accept my apology?"

Brittany doesn't hesitate to take his offered hand, a smile spreading across her face.

"Now, about Karofsky," he begins.

Brittany frowns, "No Sam, I told you."

"Yeah, I know. You won't make a formal complaint but what did he do to you. Are these bruises anywhere else?" He glances down to her hands. "I'm not seeing any bruised knuckles which suggests to me that you didn't get a chance to hit back. Was it just him?"

Brittany shakes her head, "No there was a group."

"Goddamn cowards," Sam says with surprising venom. "I won't waste my breath asking who else was in on this but I gotta know what they did to you."

He looks so seriously at her that Brittany is compelled to answer honestly. Sam will know how bad it is as soon as she starts walking anyway.

She gestures to her whole left side and abdomen. "He got in some good shots I guess. Lucky for me he hits like a girl," Brittany tries to laugh but can't help the wince when she does.

Sam gives her a thoughtful look, "Hits like a girl?" Brittany nods. "Something like this?" Sam taps brittany with a closed fist right over the possibly cracked rib and Brittany instantly doubles over in pain.

"Ow, you fucking Jerk," she says, not having to force the curse word this time.

"Sorry, but you need to see how serious this is," he says with genuine concern. "You have to see the medic."

Brittany's heart almost stops. A medic would definitely want to take her shirt off.

"No," she says quickly. "I'll be fine."

"You can't train like this."

"Sure I can."

"Okay do a jumping jack for me."

Brittany actually thinks about doing one for a moment. "Dammit," she mumbles finally.

"Exactly, now come with me. We're going to see Anderson so you can at least be put on light duties."

— s — — b —

Rehearsals make me even more nervous. The saloon is all but empty except for the other girls rehearsing and Kurt setting up bottles behind the bar. The first Wednesday Night of the season has been hectic the last two years. With a Company camped on the edge of town Shelby wants everything to be perfect. Especially since plenty of the soldiers have yet to visit us.

Brad is behind the Piano, keeping everyone entertained with his cheerful playing. Lord knows his sparkling wit isn't keeping anyone amused. The man barely says a word past good morning and goodnight. I miss him all the same when he goes to Sante Fe over the winter months. I miss our Wednesday Night performances too.

I was pretty reluctant to even start them at first. Shelby was too and she'd only let the girls put on the shows once a month. After a few busy, lucrative evenings Shelby conceded to once a week. She even sings herself occasionally. It always takes a strong bottle of something to get her on our makeshift stage but when she does, it's incredible. Her voice is something else and I know she must have had training in a past life.

The training that I lack is what haunts me as I step out onto stage and Brad plays the opening chords to my song. It's not a well known song but it's become popular among the Wednesday regulars; It's popular when I sing it.

— s — — b —

Lieutenant Anderson is not impressed when Brittany refuses to put a complaint against Karofsky. He's even more irritated when she refuses to show him her injuries.

"Fine then," Anderson says in exasperation. "If you die of internal bleeding it's not my problem."

"No it isn't," Brittany agrees simply.

"And, I'm to understand that you want me to take no action against any of them?"

"Yes Sir. I'm quite sure that would only make things worse."

Brittany can see a muscle working in his clenched jaw.

"Get out of here Pierce and report to the Mess. You'll be peeling potatoes for the rest of the week. If you survive the weekend, then we'll restart your weight exercises next week,"

Brittany nods, "Yes Lieutenant."

She and Sam leave the Lieutenant's tent, walking together until the Mess where Sam leaves so he can get to the pre-inspection training and Brittany can get to those potatoes.

— s — — b —

With the lanterns lit and a crowd gathering in the Saloon, Santana starts to worry. She scans the crowd for the hundredth time, looking for a familiar slim figure. Brittany didn't mention a time so logically Santana knows not to be disappointed just yet. The fact that there are soldiers in among the growing crowd does not mean that Brittany isn't coming. It doesn't even indicate that she's late; she's just not here yet.

Quinn steps up beside her with a box of chips for the roulette table. "Settle Kitten, he'll be here. Now go dance. You're still relatively young but if that frown becomes permeant no one's going to want you."

"Too bad that stick up your ass is a permanent affliction Fabray or Auntie Tana could share some friendly advice with you too."

I've had to knock back a few requests for dances, finding something extremely important and time consuming to do any time someone approaches. Brad is being accompanied by a violinist tonight and there are a few couples taking the opportunity to dance. I know Shelby would kill me if she knew what I was doing but it doesn't stop me. Brittany will be here soon and I promised her the first dance.

— s — — b —

Brittany hates scrubbing pots almost as much as she hates peeling potatoes. She could swear that the work is even harder than the training she goes through with Anderson's medicine balls but that could just be the bruises on her arms making it more difficult than it needs to be.

She knows it's getting late and a lot of the men have already left for Corcorans. She also knows that it will take her even longer than usual to hobble to Corcorans in her current state.

She hopes that she doesn't miss Santana's song.

— s — — b —

When Mercedes gets up to sing I start to really panic. Brittany said she would be here by now.

There's not really anything to distract me now since the girls who sing are left to focus on getting Tricks upstairs after their performances. I'm not needed behind the bar tonight and most all of the customers are either drinking, gambling or watching Mercedes.

Quinn stands beside me, "I wish we didn't have to follow her. She's too good."

I silently agree. "You know Shelby is pushing the limits even letting a black woman onstage. Harmony is the best sounding white girl so she gets to go last. Mercedes is up first; you and I are just filler."

Quinn shrugs. Her arms are folded and she's gnawing at her thumbnail nervously. I roll my eyes at the disgusting habit.

"Calm your tits Quinn, you'll be—"

Before I can finish my reassurances Quinn grabs my arm with enough force to leave a mark.

"Ow, what the fuck?"

"Rachel is here. With the Major," Quinn looks oddly pale as she looks across the room to where the tiny Brunette is making an entrance.

She's accompanied by the biggest man-child I have ever seen. He towers over the crowd, peering at everyone like he's searching for hidden candy. He looks like he could be maybe eighteen years old but the scrunched crinkles around his eyes place him closer to thirty.

I wonder why I or Quinn would even care, "What's the problem? I assume she wants to see the House in full working order. Tonight is as good a night as any."

Quinn keeps staring across the room and I'm eventually forced to pry her grip loose from my arm to restore circulation.

Finally she relaxes, "Yeah, you're right," she runs a nervous hand through her hair. "Of course. But—Oh God, I'm singing," she turns to me with a look of abject terror.

"Well yeah."

"But she can sing."

"And?"

"Like really sing, like a singer."

"And so can you."

"No," she shakes her head so her hair flicks around her shoulders. "No I can't sing in front of—"

"Hi Quinn," Rachel says, having crossed the room with surprising speed. "I hope I haven't missed your performance."

"I—I er…no you haven't" Quinn stammers.

Rachel actually claps with giddy excitement, the grin on her face all consuming.

"Hello dwarf," I lean around Quinn's frozen form. "Please don't let me keep you," I would usually take this opportunity to wave an offending party off but I am completely distracted when a slim Soldier in Blue walks through the open door.

I ignore Quinn's panicked look as I walk away from her, Rachel and Major Hudson. Quinn's a big girl; she can look after herself.

Brittany is threading her way slowly through the crowd, toward the bar. I know she must be looking for me and that makes me smile. I can't see her well yet but she seems to be walking awkwardly and favouring one side. I think back to my worries last night and swear to string Rachel up if she's in any way at fault.

Once I'm within a few yards I call out to Brittany. She immediately turns with sparkling eyes and a happy smile.

I gasp and my hand goes to my mouth in shock. The side of her face that had been hidden to me is red, black and blue with bruises. Her smile drops when she sees my expression and she hurries to join me in the throng.

"Hey, don't look so sad San," she says taking my hand easily. I feel my heart lift a little when she calls me San and takes my hand but I'm too horrified by her injuries to really appreciate it.

"What happened to you Sweets?"

"Just a little accident," she says, shuffling her feet. She bites down on her lower lip and I know she's withholding something.

"You look like someone beat the living daylights outta you."

She looks around uncomfortably and I scan the crowd, immediately assuming that ever man in the room is guilty.

"Can we talk about it later?" she asks, looking directly in my eyes.

I'm about to argue when I register that she said the word 'later'. As in, she will be talking to me in a time that is later than now. I can't decide how this small detail is important but it is.

"Sure," I nod.

She breathes a heavy sigh of relief, "Would it be too much trouble if I asked for a seat and a whiskey?"

I tilt my head in a question, "A whiskey Sweets?"

"If you'll have one with me?" she confirms.

I smile and guide us back to the end of the bar where Kurt is serving. There are no chairs available at the bar so I glare at a dusty old prospector until he spontaneously realises that he has somewhere else to be.

Brittany hesitates, looking like she wants to offer me the chair. I roll my eyes and force her into it, not missing the grimace of pain as she settles. I remind myself that she'll explain it all later.

There's a new girl up on stage and Brittany turns to watch her sing. I'm instantly nervous again so I get Kurt's attention and direct him to pour us both a shot of whiskey.

Kurt looks at me expectanyl so I wave a vague hand between them, "Kurt, Brent Pierce. Sweets, this is Kurt."

"Back so soon?" he smiles at Brittany.

Brittany nods, "Couldn't stay away."

She gives me that confident smile and I look away shyly, simultaneously hating and loving that she can do that to me.

Kurt deposits our drinks on the bar and rushes off to serve another soldier with dark, perfectly moulded hair. I scoff when I see Kurt doing his creepy 'charm' smile.

I grab the shots and hand one to Brittany who grimaces at the smell of it. I keep in my laugh, tapping my glass to hers and up ending it's contents down my throat. Brittany hesitates long enough that she is still downing her drink when I slam my glass back on the bar.

"Bleaurgh!" she shakes her head back and forth with her eyes scrunched shut. The shiner on her left eye looks awful. A ring of deep red runs along her cheek and I can see the rapidly yellowing bruise closer to her eye.

I take her glass and set it down next to mine. "I'll be back soon okay," I glance over to the girl now singing. "I'm on after the next girl finishes."

Brittany lights up, "Really?"

I nod and smile, my nerves totally gone, "I'll be back soon."

I give her right shoulder a squeeze, hoping she isn't bruised there too. She grins and I know it's fine.

I wind through the crowd to the door behind our stage to get ready.

— s — — b —

A warm hand presses against her shoulder and for a crazy instant she thinks it might be Santana, even though she just saw her leave through a door on the opposite side of the room.

I high male voice whispers in her ear and makes a shiver run across her neck, "I know what your thinking." He slips into a sing song voice. "I know your secret." the young barman says, shifting to stand beside her. He nudges his shoulder against hers.

Brittany gapes at him. "You can read minds?" she asks in absolute awe.

Kurt shakes his head, "Um no. I know what you're doing with our little Kitten." he nods toward the door Santana disappeared through.

"Oh," Brittany says disappointed. "Can you pretend to read minds?" she asks.

"Um no," Kurt looks thoroughly confused. "Why would I do that?"

Brittany shrugs, "It would be pretty wonderful if you could."

Kurt looks momentarily distracted but then he shakes his head, nudging his perfect hair so it's more perfect.

"You're trying to take our little Kitten away."

"But I have nowhere to take her too. My camp is right there," she gestures vaguely toward the door, not sure if the camp is actually that way or not.

The move makes her body hurt a little more. The whiskey was good though and is already making her feel better.

"Can I have another one please?" she asks Kurt politely.

"Um sure," Kurt says in a suddenly understanding voice.

He thinks Brittany is drunk which she isn't. Brittany thinks he is strange which he most definitely is.

Brittany has to talk herself into the next shot since Santana isn't there to do it with her. In fact it takes her three goes. It's not nearly as harsh as the first one and she orders a third when Kurt gets back to her.

He looks like he wants to talk some more but she shushes him because the girl before Santana has stopped singing and left the stage.

When Santana steps up she is glowing.

When the piano begins a rolling melody and Santana starts singing Brittany thinks her heart may actually have stopped.

_Black girl, black Girl, don't lie to me_  
_Tell me where did you sleep last night?_

Brittany has heard this song before, sung by a man in a variety show in San Francisco. This is no variety show. Santana's voice is dark, warm and mysterious. Brittany is certain that Santana sounds just like chocolate tastes.

_In the pines, In the pines, Where the sun never shine_  
_I shivered the whole night through._

Santana makes eye contact with Brittany who can no longer feel the chair beneath her. Santana's voice has removed Brittany from her body so she can't feel a damn thing.

_Black girl, black girl, where will you go_  
_Im going where the cold wind blows_  
_In the pines, In the pines, Where the sun never shine_  
_I will shiver the whole night through._

_Black girl, black Girl, dont lie to me_  
_Tell me where did you sleep last night?_  
_In the pines, In the pines, Where the sun never shine_  
_I shivered the whole night through._

Santana draws out the word shiver and Brittany is drawn back to herself. She grabs onto the sides of her chair as she feels the note run her body through.

_My Husband was a Railroad man_  
_Killed a mile and a half from here_  
_His head, was found, In a drivers wheel_  
_And his body hasn't never been found._

_Black girl, black girl, where will you go_  
_Im going where the cold wind blows_

Brittany suspects it isn't planned when the piano stops and Santana's voice is left in solo for the rest of the song. Santana glances at the piano guy but doesn't falter as she returns her gaze to Brittany's. The words aren't about either of them but Brittany knows that Santana is singing the song for her.

_You called me weak, and you called me the most_  
_You called rita, bring me back home._

The saloon erupts with cheers and Santana is radiant. Brittany is stuck completely dumb and she is sure her mouth is actually hanging open. She snaps it shut and grimaces at the pain that causes. There are tears in her eyes and she quickly ducks her head to blink them away.

When she next looks up, Santana is in front of her, still glowing. She's bounding on her feet like she just can't contain the happy energy flowing through her. It's completely captivating and Brittany wants nothing more than to wrap her arms around Santana and hold her close.

"Are you able to dance Sweets?" Santana's smile dims slightly as she runs her eyes down Brittany's body.

"I want to," Brittany says immediately.

Santana nods, "But you can't."

Brittany starts to shake her head and to her surprise, Santana's smile returns in full force.

"Good," she says simply.

"Oh, so you don't want to—"

"No I do, and we will next time but we can go somewhere else now…" she trails off.

Brittany doesn't quite understand at first but then it hits her. She can buy a night at Corcorans again. They can spend more time together. It's perfect, Santana just didn't want to be the one to suggest it.

Brittany grins as she stands and offers Santana her arm, "Lead the way M'Lady."

Santana grasps her arm immediately and drags her from the chair. Brittany stumbles slightly before righting herself and following in Santana's wake. She glances up to the top floor landing where Ms Corcoran herself is watching the crowd below. They make eye contact and Brittany feels an altogether unpleasant shiver run down her spine at the glare she receives.

The stairs are difficult and Santana has to support Brittany some of the way. Thankfully, the room Santana has chosen isn't too far from the top of the stairs and Brittany is quick to seat herself on the bed. She feels slightly clammy and definitely weak. She had a hearty lunch and dinner so she knows she'll be getting better soon, it's just frustrating for the moment.

Santana closes the door and then whirls on Brittany, "What happened sweets? Why are you limping? Who did this to you?"

Brittany sighs. Apparently now is later. "It was one of the other Privates. He and a few of the others took a disliking to me and decided that this," she gestures to her face. "Was appropriate punishment."

"They beat you because they don't like you?"

Brittany shrugs with a wry smile, "They think me womanish. Plus I beat them in all our horseshoe races."

Santana's lips twitch in a smirk before returning to her serious expression, "So what happens to them now? They're being punished right? Like being beaten with big sticks or having their scrotums removed from their bodies?"

Brittany scrunches up her nose at the image, "No, that's gross. And I didn't make a formal complaint. All that will happen if I do is they'll get reprimanded, put on latrine duty for a month and then come back and beat me even worse."

Santana shakes her head, "Fine then, I'll go turn them inside out for you. See how manly they feel with their sacks half way down their throats."

She's pacing the room, agitated a twitchy.

"Santana?"

"What else did they do to you? Other than your face I mean." her eyes drift down over Brittany's body again.

Brittany hesitates for just a moment before shrugging her jacket off, then tugging her shirt off and leaving just the undershirt behind. She tries not to feel self conscious as Santana's eyes follow her movements.

"There's some bruises where the two biggest guys held me," she points to the bruises on her upper arms. "And the rest is, well," she carefully untucks her undershirt and lifts the hem to reveal the dark bruises that have blossomed like perverse flowers across her stomach and side.

Santana gasps and tears fill her eyes. Brittany is quick to lower her shirt.

"Which one is it? Is he here now?" she asks gesturing to the door. "I'll kill him," Santana says in a sure voice.

"Please don't try anything Santana, I don't want you to be hurt too."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing," she rants, pacing the room.

"Well you aren't really sitting down, so," Brittany chuckles.

"This isn't funny Sweets. I don't know how you can be so goddamned cavalier about this. I want to find that fucker and make him hurt." Her hands are balled into fists as if she's ready to hit someone.

"I'm pretty sure you'd just break your fist on his face. And that won't really make me feel any better," Brittany comments casually.

Santana groans, "It'll make me feel better," she pouts at Brittany's smirk. "Fine, I won't hit anyone."

"Or anything," Brittany says, with sudden concern for inanimate objects like the wall.

"Or anything," Santana repeats, finally standing still. "I have to do something though," she says, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You can kiss it better then," Brittany jokes lightly.

The breath catches in Brittany's throat when she sees the look in Santana's eyes.

"San?" she asks as Santana unfolds her arms, shifting absently towards the bed. Her expression is almost completely passive as she gets lost in deep contemplation.

"Lie down Sweets," she finally says in a firm voice.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Didn't your mother ever kiss a bruise or a skinned knee? Did you ever hug a friend who was sad or scared?" she asks seriously.

"Yes, of course but I don't see—"

"Then lie down." She has that determined look in her eye. "I can't exactly give you a massage in this state but I'm going to do something."

Brittany still doesn't know how she feels about this but she can't see any real fault in the logic. She lifts her legs to the mattress and lies back against the pillows gingerly.

Santana sets herself on the bed beside Brittany where she knows there are fewer bruises.

"Close your eyes," she says, suddenly appearing a little bashful under Brittany's gaze.

Brittany does as she's told. Everything is quiet and still for a moment then with the soft whisper of fabric, Santana moves.

Brittany can feel a warm breath against her cheek and it sends a pleasant chill down her spine. She turns her head so the bruised side is facing Santana more directly.

"Oh, Sweets," Santana says like she's seeing the injury for the first time.

Brittany feels light fingertips run over her cheek then her jaw. When the first kiss is pressed delicately to her temple she knows only one thing. This feels nothing like her mother's kiss.

One kiss then another and another is brushed lightly over Brittany's tender flesh. She looses count some time after the tenth as her body seems to both relax and and become more tense at the same time.

As Santana's lips progress down to press against her jaw she feels a tingling heat erupt deep in her gut and she suddenly understands. She understands what that hot, full sensation in her chest is every time she sees Santana. She knows why every thought in her head leads her back to Santana. She knows why she wants to know Santana and have a friendship with Santana like no one else.

She wants Santana.

Her fingers automatically thread into Santana's hair. She wants and needs to have Santana closer. Santana feels the tug and fulfils the silent request, letting her body fall against Brittany's side.

Brittany makes a conscious effort to release her grip and Santana's lips still against her jaw. Santana pulls back hesitantly and Brittany is nervous. She knows that her rapid breathing is obvious as her chest rises and falls and she knows Santana can feel it as she lies by her side.

Santana shifts slightly to press one more, much firmer kiss against her uninjured cheek. Brittany doesn't know whether it's a deliberate action when her lips land on the very corner of her lips but it makes her stomach flip and her heart jolt.

"Santana?" Brittany doesn't know what she would ask but she's hushed by Santana before any real words can form.

Suddenly, Santana's hand is warm against Brittany's stomach. Brittany's eyes flutter closed as the sensation adds to the fire already burning through her. Santana lifts Brittany's shirt to expose the skin below her navel and Brittany shivers.

The mattress dips as Santana shifts lower on the bed. Brittany's heartbeat must rival that of a mouse. She's sure she'll jump out of her skin if Santana touches her again.

The waiting is killing her but she won't look. She can't see what is happening to her right now. If she opens her eyes she knows that the world will shatter and she'll wake up alone in her cot.

A warm breath caresses the skin of her stomach and she feels that stoked feeling inside her growing. She finally relents and opens her eyes. The world doesn't shatter. Santana is still by her side with tears in her eyes as she looks at the bruises that litter Brittany's skin. Santana closes her eyes and a lone tear escapes her hold. She swipes it away before it can fall to the blood darkened skin and her hand returns to the blankets by Brittany's side.

Brittany wants to take the hand in her own but she can't.

Santana shifts the shirt higher to expose all the flesh below Brittany's first rib. The deep hurt in her expression threatens to tear at Brittany's heart and she still hasn't seen those dark eyes turn to her yet. Santana bows her head and a few strands of her hair tickle Brittany's skin. She moves the hand not supporting her to float over Brittany's abdomen. She doesn't make contact like she did with her cheek but Brittany can feel the heat of it all the same.

Santana withdraws her hand and finally leans down. Her lips press tender apologies against wounded flesh.

Brittany sees stars.

* * *

AN: The song was In The Pines by an unknown author. You'll hopefully recognise it as a track on that Live Nirvana recording.


	11. Just To Feel

Ahh guys you kill me with all your responses. And guess what happy writers do. In my case, I write ten thousand word chapters. To all the annons/guests, I'd love to know who you are but I can't when you don't sign in?

HappyTrick: You are so Fetch. I'm so glad you're enjoying.  
Macazubieta and Diana: In The Pines was written in like 1870 which is just amazing. Now I really just want to hear Santana sing it on the show. It would be awesome. Or any Nirvana song really.

I'm so glad that you guys are liking confident Britt. This Brittany I'm writing here is the Brittany that won Senior class president with pixie sticks and topless Tuesday; the same girl that supported Santana through her very public outing even while dealing with her own; (headcanon)this Britt choreographed and taught Nationals winning routines for Glee and Cheerios. I can only hope to do her character justice.

Okay, now that scene which pretty much wrote itself from Britt's perspective took me a bit longer to figure out from Santana's. Her motivations eluded me for a while there. Apparently she kinda Snixed out. I like to think of San's yelling/rage place as running right alongside her passion/sexy place. Also Snix's idiosyncrasies of vocabulary got away from me a bit here. Lots of rewrites had to happen. Plus, two and a half thousand words of unadulterated teasing is harder to write than you might think.

Check out my tumblr which I'm starting to add fic relevant posts to. I'm sure I'll end up posting little sneak peaks and things too ;). It's dancetyd dot tumblr dot com

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When I bring Brittany into our room I'm still experiencing the euphoria that comes from singing in front of a crowd. My body is humming. The wednesday night crowd is always stimulating but i'm usually forced back to sense when i return to the saloon. When I find a Trick. Tonight with Brittany, I'm caught in this perpetual state of visceral responsiveness. In short, I have taken leave of my senses.

When brittany shows me her injuries the torrent of emotions I'm already experiencing are simultaneously overwhelmed and compounded. I'll kill the sonovabitch who hurt my friend so badly. The anger and euphoria condense hotly in that expansive part of my chest and direct my actions from there.

My body moves me across the floor. I'm pacing as my whole physical self demands action be taken. The rage that is so easily sparked has been justifiably and violently provoked. I'm ready to break faces. If only Brittany would let me. She sits calmly on the bed and watches me pace as though I amuse her greatly.

She teases me while wearing that calm, confident smile and the stirrings demand my attention. Brittany eventually talks me out of causing anyone harm. But I'm still humming. That visceral responsiveness is still in effect.

"You can kiss it better then," she's joking of course.

But she says it with _that_ smile and it suddenly seems like the best and only option available to me. Why wouldn't I kiss her better? It makes perfect sense. I have a course of action. There's a quiet part of my mind that agrees with Brittany when she says this could be a bad idea. On the other hand. The stirrings that demanded blood just moments ago have shifted back to euphoria again. I feel overwhelmed. Drunk on it all.

I pause, just to listen to the thundering of blood in my ears and the staccato rhythm of my heart. That visceral response demands I take action.

My eyes skate over Brittany's poor bruised face and for the first time in my life I let go and just allow my body to guide me. It commands my voice and I find Brittany lying against the bed, trust evident in her gaze. I remove her cap and ask her to close her eyes. When she does so without question I feel a pulse run through me.

I kneel on the bed beside her still form. My left hand supports me at her side while my right shifts to gently caress over her bruised cheek. Being this close is like seeing her for the first time and I feel my heart clench. The once flawless skin has been abused so badly. I can see a trio of marks that could be from the knuckles of an oversized fist on the edge if her temple. I withdraw my hand and lean forward.

As I press my lips to the reddened skin of her cheek everything slows down. The anger completely disappears from my body and all that is left is the euphoric, effervescent warmth that stokes my heart and draws me closer to her. Every kiss is soft and reverent as I take infinite care not to hurt her any further.

When she presses her fingers into my hair my whole body responds as I arch up like a cat into her touch. Her blunt nails run along my scalp and I fall easily into her side, barely remembering to be careful of her bruises. A heat radiates from Brittany's torso that fills me with a throbbing energy. It fills me with a warmth that makes me feel every connection in my body from skin to heart to the hidden sensations I have no words to describe

I lose count of my kisses as I lean over her but I figure I never put a limit on them anyway. If I can't hurt the man responsible for Brittany's injuries, I can at least do this.

Delicate kisses become feverish and wet as I press my lips, open mouthed along the line of her jaw. I can taste her skin; the tense stirrings coil tightly in my chest, deep in my gut. When Brittany's fingers grasp at my hair the sensation is indescribable. My thoughts are a jumbled mass and I worry(but not really) that my thoughts may never come straight again.

Suddenly her hands are gone. I can once again think linearly. My mind reconnects fully with my body. I discover that my heart is pounding and a tingling runs under my skin like it did just after my song. I'm sure Brittany must be able to feel it with the way I'm lying against her side.

I look her over and see that her eyes are still closed. She's breathing deeply, her chest moving rapidly beside me. I see her throat twitch as she swallows. She looks a lot like I feel right now but she's lost that edge of pain that had pulled at her features earlier. I can't make the bruises heal any faster but I can at least alleviate some of the pain. I feel a small smile tug at my lips.

As I hesitate a minute frown starts to tug at the corner of her lips. I'm sorely tempted to press another kiss(just gently) to her mouth. The thought makes my stomach flip. The sensation joining the hum that continues throughout my body.

I lean forward again. Her lips seem so soft and I consider running my fingertips over them just to see(just to feel). I settle for kissing the corner of her mouth where that frown is pulling at her expression. I press more firmly than before, acknowledging the beautiful skin on the uninjured side. Her bruises will fade.

Brittany's says my name but I shush her calmly. We don't need words.

Brittany shifts slightly and I register that the stiff leather of her belt is pressed against my hip. I can only assume that it must be pressing even harder against the bruises in her abdomen. Remembering the awful blemishes on her stomach—even worse than the black eye—threatens to bring tears back to my eyes.

My hand shifts to her stomach where the skin is hot through her shirt. I pull the fabric back and I can see the dark stains under her skin. Brittany gives the faintest gasp and I know my attention should shift. I remove my hand and shuffle down the bed.

Looking up from my new position I see that Brittany still has her eyes squeezed shut even her hands are balled into fists; one is by her side, the other is pressed into the pillow by her ear.

I finally look down to see her bruised abdomen up close. The narrow strip of flesh I've so far exposed is an absolute mess of discolouration. I think I'm crying but I don't let any tears land on Brittany's skin.

I move her shirt higher and what I see hurts my heart in a way I haven't experienced since my father died. I know Brittany is watching so I dip my chin so she won't see the pain in my eyes. I also shift my left hand closer to her right. She can take my hand if she chooses. My right hand drifts across her body without touching her. I read her flesh like a holy manuscript.

I withdraw my hand and finally press a healing kiss to her abdomen.

Her body shifts as she arches into my touch.

The near-silent sound of the metal shifting in her belt buckle prompts a question.

"Is the belt hurting you?" I ask finally brushing my fingertips over bruises that I can see disappear under the waistband of her slacks.

She doesn't answer straight away. I look up to see her eyes are still scrunched closed and she's biting her lip. There's a strain in her neck, like she's holding a tense posture even though she's lying down. I watch as she swallows again then gradually lowers her chin in a slow but definite nod.

"Can I—" I swallow the nervous lump in my own throat. "Um do you want—can I undo—that is, would you rather it not be there?"

Her face burns red but she nods again, this time with a more confident bob of her head. I act quickly but carefully, loosening the belt without adding any more pressure.

I slip it from around her waist and drop it from the side of the bed. I don't particularly care that it clatters to the ground, my whole focus is on Brittany. I won't leave any bruise undiscovered and it's the ones that disappear under her waistband that fill me with anxiety. The way that Brittany talked about the beating(the awful beating) makes me think that she doesn't fully grasp how much damage a man's fist can do to a woman.

I slip my fingers under the waistband of her slacks at the sides. She responds immediately, lifting up so I can tug her slacks down until they rest low on her hips. Thankfully the bruising stops not much lower than her belly button.

When she shifts subtly beneath me I realise my fingers are still tucked into her waistband with my forearms resting on her thighs.

— s — — b —

Brittany sighs as she feels the belt loosen and Santana carefully tugs it from around her waist. The buckle tinkles brightly on it's way to the floor and Brittany can concur with it's happy sounding assessment of the situation.

Santana's warm, gentle fingers slip below the waistband of her slacks and her heart skips a beat for the hundredth time. She lifts her hips automatically and Santana is quick to tug the fabric down to settle a few inches below her naval. Her eyes remain shut as she takes deep steadying breaths through her nose. She feels the heat of Santana's arms against her thighs and those delicate fingers are still against her hip. She can't help the small shift in her posture as the sensations make her stomach clench.

Brittany is sure Santana will move away from her at any moment now. The single, sweet kiss was already enough to spark a tingling pulse connecting her heartbeat to her groin. Every minute pressure causes a fresh pulse and Santana is oh so close to her.

And then.

Oh, and then Santana does move but it's only to gain the leverage she needs to lean in and kiss the skin over the ribs on Brittany's left side.

The kisses progress across her skin as if there hadn't even been a pause. They burn across every inch; each one soft, wet and delicate. Brittany can barely resist the growing need to cant her hips up at shift of pressure. Santana moves methodically across her skin and Brittany can imagine that she is being worshipped; every healing kiss is a prayer; the fingertips running up her sides are a holy vow.

Brittany is losing her breath and her control. She wants to pull Santana to her but she knows she can't. Every overwhelming sensation is killing her in the most delicious way. It's like Santana is teasing her knowingly and Brittany revels in the impossible possibility that Santana might want her just as much she wants Santana. It's a beautiful thing to imagine but it causes her heart to ache. Santana wants to be her friend, nothing more. Santana _is_ her friend. Her actions, though indescribably affecting are born of friendly caring. Santana herself compared her actions to those of a mother or a friend. Brittany's only conclusion is that Santana's notion of physical familiarity is far different from her own. No matter how this effects her, Brittany can't let her control slip.

When Santana's lips press wetly against her hip Brittany has to grasp at the blankets underneath her to keep from pushing her fingers back into Santana's hair. When a kiss lands on the sweep of skin between her hips corresponding with a soft stroke of fingertips against her sides Brittany almost breaks. The twitch in her abdomen is the only evidence of the way her hips would cant up if she allowed them to.

When those fingers return to her hips and those hot, wet lips reach the edge of her exposed skin Brittany reaches the edge of her sanity.

— s — — b —

"San—Santana. Can we just stop for a—just for a second?"

I shift away from her, my cheeks flaming as I realise where my wandering lips had progressed to. Brittany is breathing hard and a blush burns her face, down her neck and out to the tips of her ears.

She looks me square in the eye, "I am definitely feeling better."

I nod and look down at my hand, picking at a loose thread in the bed cover. I can't really hear much noise from the saloon which would tend to suggest that it's pretty late.

"Do you want to sleep?" I ask. "Are you tired?"

She looks at me like I am completely insane for even suggesting she might be tired.

"What? It's late and I know you start your days early right?"

"Yes, yeah I guess I do. But I'm not really tired right now. Are you?"

I'm not. "We could just talk for a while?" I ask, suddenly completely unsure.

My performance buzz is almost gone and Brittany's presence has become a calming one now that I'm not lying across her.

"Tell me about San Francisco," I suggest hopefully. "It sounds so much more exciting than Ohio."

Brittany chuckles and I'm glad to see the smile spread so easily across her face. It isn't_that_ smile but I still feel the warmth in my chest.

Brittany tells me about growing up in a big house on Rincon Hill and how her father made a name for himself as a shrewd money man. Some number of his investments went particularly well meaning that Brittany had grown up in a rather affluent household.

"I hardy saw him really. It was just me, my brother and my Mom," her eyes dim.

"What happened to her?"

She sighs and I think she might not answer me, "Tuberculosis," she says simply. "I was eight years old."

She was so young. Like I was.

"So your father raised you?"

Surprisingly she shakes her head, "No, he hired a nanny to look after me. My brother was old enough to go to boarding school. I wasn't quite as smart as he was and I hadn't gone so well at school so Holly was my teacher as well as… everything else."

"Holly?"

Brittany nods, "My nanny. She was like my mother, my teacher, and my best friend all in one," a smile quirks her lips and I feel a jolt of something turn inside me. "She was only a little older than me. Maybe seventeen when she first arrived."

"Arrived from where?"

"You know I was never really sure." She turns to rest on her side with her chin resting against her palm. Her gaze becomes unfocused as she remembers. "She had the strangest accent and she spoke a few different languages. She used to say she came from Paris and then it would be Moscow and then Berlin," she laughs. "Always somewhere wonderful."

I smile with her smile. "She sounds incredible."

"She is," she sighs. "She taught me to dance."

— s — — b —

Brittany knows she wants to share everything with Santana but the remembering makes her heart ache. Even the happy memories make her feel sad.

Santana stifles a yawn and suddenly Brittany feels terrible. She wonders how long Santana had been feeling tired but not saying anything

"I'm sorry San. You're tired and I've just been talking at you non stop."

She shakes her head through a more obvious yawn, "I'm not tired. And I like listening to you."

"I like talking to you too," Brittany admits.

Brittany won't let her be exhausted though and she realises that she probably needs rest herself so she can recover properly.

"We both need rest," she says calmly, reaching down to unlace her boots.

Santana looks ready to argue so Brittany takes her hand. The contact causes an echo of the pulse to run through her body but she ignores it, kicking off her shoes and letting them thud to the floor.

She sighs, "Please lie with me." She meant to say something more casual and her cheeks burn.

Santana doesn't notice though because her eyes are focused on their joined hands.

She nods. "Okay Sweets," she says, her cheeks growing darker as well. Brittany won't let herself believe it's for the same reason.

Brittany untangles their hands so she can lift her arm in an invitation for Santana to lie against her. She knows that she is risking her own sanity by holding her friend so close but it's a sacrifice she's willing to make. Santana lies down then curls up securely against Brittany's side with her head on Brittany's shoulder. Santana curls her arms up against Brittany's ribs. She figures the awkward position is so she won't be tempted to throw her arm over Brittany's bruised waist in the night. This idea makes her smile and she doesn't resist the urge to press a kiss into Santana's hair.

Santana's breath is warm against her neck and Brittany allows the regular pattern lull her further into drowsiness. Just when Brittany is sure that Santana's asleep the girl in her arms mumbles something like goodnight then presses a gentle, wet kiss against her neck.

A shudder so violent passes along Brittany's spine that she worries she might have disturbed Santana with the movement. She holds her breath. She listens to Santana's deep, steady breath and knows she's asleep.

Brittany might never sleep again.

— s — — b —

I've never slept through to the morning bell before but I guess there's a first time for everything. With Brittany's arms wrapped around me and our legs tangled I could stay here all day. I feel so safe and comfortable with the warmth of her body against mine.

The unfortunate reality is that our time is up. I need to wake Brittany and somehow convince her to see Beiste. The bruising to her abdomen has me worried. Given the extent of discolouration and the way she's hobbling, there could be internal damage. I just don't know how I can talk Brittany into seeing the doctor. I also have no idea how I'm going to convince Beiste into keeping Brittany's secret.

"Sweets, are you awake?"

Her faces scrunches up, "No I'm not," she mumbles as her arms tighten around me. "Ow," she grumbles.

I'm not sure whether it was the face scrunching or the holding me tighter that hurt her and maybe it was a combination of both.

"I think you need to go see a doctor sweets."

"Can't see a medic," she mumbles, obviously still half asleep. "Dishonorable discharge or something else bad."

"What about Beiste? I want you checked out and he's a good man; we might be able to come to some kind of agreement with him."

Brittany's eyes flutter open. "Like what kind?"

I don't actually know. "I'll think of something Sweets."

She frowns a little but slowly nods, "Okay San. If that's what you want."

I feel immense relief knowing that a real doctor will have a chance to check on Brittany. If anything happened to her, I don't know what I'd do. She's still frowning a little so I lean forward quickly and plant a light kiss to her clean cheek, just on the edge of her lips.

I jump out of the bed before she has a chance to react. "Come on Sweets. The bell rang. We gotta get you out of here and to the Doctor."

I walk straight to the door, not turning until I'm reaching for the handle. "Sweets?"

She's still lying on the bed, staring into the space in front of her. Her arms lay across the bed in the space I just vacated as though they had fallen in my absence and Brittany had been unable to move them.

"Sweets, are you okay? Are you hurting a lot?" I know from experience that these kinds of bruises can be even more painful the day after.

Brittany finally pulls her arms back to herself and rolls onto her back. She blinks up at the ceiling for a moment then sits up. She's wearing _that_ smile and I quickly move to collect her myself. I grab her hand and drag her to her feet, so glad that the familiarity from last night is still with us.

— s — — b —

Shelby cross checks another list of numbers against her inventory figures and then the estimated takings from last night. The first Wednesday Night of the season was definitely a success. The Company Boys seemed mostly more inclined to gambling than women but they spent plenty of money all the same.

She pushes her stacks of invoices, receipts and catalogues to one side with a sigh. She knows she'll have to go over them again when her head is clearer. She's at the bar because she couldn't work in her office but the move made little difference to productivity.

Kurt slips into the chair next to her, sliding a coffee over.

"What are you doing out here?" he asks, glancing around the saloon. "Are you up early or still awake from last night?"

"Early," Shelby replies, knowing that the few hours of sleep she's had have probably left her looking pretty haggard.

Kurt sips at his own coffee as he arches one delicate eyebrow in question.

"I'm just going over the numbers," Shelby explains. "We went well last night."

"The girls do draw a crowd. Mercedes and Harmony were wonderful as always," He pauses, obviously for dramatic effect. "Santana as well made an excellent performance."

Shelby already knows this. Santana blew everyone away with the depth and soulfulness of her singing. She has never sounded better and she outshone Harmony if not Mercedes as well.

"You have to wonder why last night was so different. _Everyone_ was asking for her," He waves his hands and tweaks his voice impersonating a prospector, "That mullato girl who sang so perty would sure be nice to have fer the night." He rolls his eyes as he continues. "She's sure to have the rest if the week booked out. Unless that boy of hers—" He cuts himself off when they both here an unfamiliar giggle from a familiar voice float down the stairs. "Well speak of the devil."

Shelby and Kurt share a look as they here a heavy set of feet thundering down the stairs followed by a softer, slower pair. Santana slides into view. She's still in her clothes from last night which is to be expected since her soldier boy Pierce bought the whole night.

She doesn't notice them as she calls back to her companion. "Come on Sweets, we'll never get there at the rate you're moving."

A slightly whining voice replies, "You're no fair, San. The whole reason I'm going is what slows me down in the gettin there." Brent Pierce is making his slow way down the stairs. Shelby can't help but wonder again how old this boy is since she's sure his voice must still be in the process of breaking.

Neither of them have noticed Kurt and Shelby yet. They're both grinning at each other like there are no two other people in the whole world. Kurt sighs and rests his elbow against the bar so he can rest his chin on his palm in a dramatic pose. He apparently thinks that they are the two most adorable things in the creation.

When Pierce crosses the floor Shelby can see he has a distinctively awkward way of moving. She wonders what kind of injuries he's sustained since she met him. He doesn't seem too bright, so she wouldn't be surprised if he had hurt himself in some kind of accident.

When he reaches Santana, she takes his hand easily and leans in to murmur something close to his ear. Shelby wonders why she would start whispering now when she had no problems making a racket coming down the stairs. The obvious answer would be that Santana wanted to be closer to him. It doesn't seem likely though. She is quite confident that Santana has never had a genuine interest in any of her Tricks before. Shelby even has a theory as to the reason why. Up until now she didn't think Santana would ever show an interest in any man.

Yet, here Santana is flirting and smiling and holding this boy's hand, looking at him like he's the world to her.

They exchange a few more words and then without once glancing at the bar where Kurt and Shelby sit, Santana leaves Pierce to walk through the doorway that leads to her room. Pierce stares after her for some time before turning towards the bar absently. When he spots the two people watching him colour floods his cheeks and he looks down at his boots. Shelby doesn't like what she's seeing but Kurt seems absolutely delighted. He laughs and even gives a soft round of applause as though for a mildly entertaining variety show.

"Bravo Private. Wonderfully done," Kurt praises in only a half-mocking tone.

Pierce drifts toward the bar, apparently unable to stop the smile that dominates his expression.

Kurt slips his two hands between his knees, with his back straight as he continues, "So another evening with our dear Kitten? I trust you had a pleasurable evening."

Shelby wants to elbow Kurt in the ribs but he's sitting too far away for the move to be a subtle one.

Pierce visibly swallows, "I er, yes. I did thank you." His voice is noticeably lower than a minute ago.

There's an elongated pause before Kurt prompts further, "Those bruises look terrible. I hope she wasn't too rough with you."

The poor boy's face looks ready to melt off, he's so red.

Shelby thinks Pierce has had enough of Kurt's interrogation so she asks, "Have you means to pay today or should I open an account for you?"

Pierce nods before realising a verbal response is required. "I can pay today," he says.

Shelby questions him automatically, "Really? it will be easier next time if we just open up an account now."

The House always makes more money off a man who opens up an account with them. The men forget what all the blow-jobs, booze and games are costing them until Shelby hands them the bill which they have no choice but to pay. It's a little underhanded but then again, The House is only servicing adults. They can take care of themselves.

The soldier is still looking pensive so Shelby gives him another option(people like options), "How about you take the day and let me know tonight which way you want to go."

Pierce nods quickly and Shelby knows which option he'll be taking.

The boy glances towards the door Santana disappeared through like he wants to follow her. That won't be happening. Absolutely no Tricks are allowed in the girl's private rooms.

Pierce makes a visible effort to square his shoulders before turning back to address them directly, "Do you know, um…did Santana like her—did she keep the flowers?"

Shelby has no idea what he's talking about but apparently Kurt does.

He flaps his hands in a way that's far too familiar as his excited gossiping gesture, "Oh it was so sweet! Quinn said she spent nearly an hour picking out the perfect vase and the perfect spot on the window to keep them," he holds one hand over his heart. "She's never taken so much as a napkin from a Trick before."

Shelby frowns. She doesn't like it when anyone says 'Trick' in front of townies. It sounds vulgar.

Pierce doesn't seem to mind though. He's lost in some intensely happy place far away from where he presently stands. Even Santana reentering the room isn't enough to rouse him. She's dressed for town which makes Shelby frown. She won't say anything against it though. Santana is on her own time now. She can do as she pleases.

Santana practically skips to the boy's side and he finally comes out of his haze. He gives Santana a bright, slightly cocky smile that makes her blush. Shelby can't remember seeing the girl blush since she was maybe fifteen years old. Now she has witnessed a flustered Santana two days in a row.

Kurt clears his throat and Santana jumps. She was completely unaware of their presence. She turns to them and the blissful smile turns quickly into the stern almost-frown they're both accustomed to.

She glances between Shelby and Pierce. She doesn't look guilty so much as a little apologetic. Shelby isn't sure who she might want to apologise to.

"Good morning Shelby," she says quietly. Then to Kurt, "Porcelain, you're looking positively lavender this morning." she says it with a pleasant smile that could suggest she's giving him a compliment. "Is that a new blouse?"

"Why thank you Kitten. Have you been sharpening your claws against the bed post again?" Kurt smirks suggestively.

Shelby rolls her eyes at the both of them. They've been playing this game for years.

She interrupts, "Where are you off to so early?" she asks in a tone that says Santana isn't obliged to answer.

"I'm taking Brent to see Beiste. I don't trust those army medics," she answers briefly.

"What would you know about army medics?" Kurt interrupts.

"More than you Porcelain," Santana deflects. "Now, we need to get going so no time to chat," she grasps Pierce's hand again, "Come on Sweets." She drags the poor boy quickly after her.

At the door he stalls and turns to shelby, "Thank you. I really liked the," he glances around the room. "Card tables. They're a really pretty green."

He disappears out the door and there's the sound of more laughter from Santana.

"Did he even play any cards?" Kurt asks curiously.

Shelby shakes her head, "No he didn't. And he complimented the curtains last time."

"Strange boy," Kurt comments. "Cute as a button. But strange."

"This is a complication," Shelby says mostly to herself.

"Oh don't be so dreary. They're adorable together and I'm pretty sure he's in love with her. Love is always wonderful."

"Not in our business," She sighs. "We don't need any more complications."

"Oh, on that I can definitely agree." He regards her for a moment before adding. "I met the Majors wife last night," he hesitates and Shelby's posture goes rigid. "She's very beautiful," he concludes.

"Yes, I suppose she is."

"She's led quite an interesting life for someone so young," he says and she knows there's more. "Grew up in Washington of all places."

Shelby nods.

"Adopted by a wealthy man there under rather unusual circumstances. She didn't elaborate but the subtext to her words—and believe me there was plenty of subtext—suggested that she was actually adopted by this man _and_ his roommate—if you understand my meaning."

Shelby nods again. Of course she understands.

He looks at her seriously knowing that they are thinking the same thing. Rachel is the daughter Shelby gave up many years ago.

Shelby's brief interview with Rachel a few nights ago was enough to confirm it. With Kurt knowing what he does about her and seeing Rachel's undeniable resemblance it's unsurprising that he worked it all out.

"Are you going to tell her?" he asks.

Shelby shakes her head, "Absolutely not."

"Then why let her into the House at all. Quinn said she's writing some kind of book. She could figure it out on her own."

"I don't know," she chuckles. "I guess it isn't in me to refuse her anything."

Kurt looks like he's about to say something when Quinn herself comes sprinting down the stairs and into the Saloon. She skids to a halt when she spots them and smoothes down her skirt, trying to appear more collected than she actually is. She's dressed nicely as well and Shelby wonders if she's meeting Puck. He's meant to be around to fix the roof and a few other things to start paying off some of his debt.

Quinn's eyes are sparkling and she's trying to hide a smile as she nods in greeting to both of them. Kurt glances at Shelby who shares his bemused look. Quinn is acting just as strangely as Santana. Neither girls are prone to emotional entanglements and now both are apparently smitten.

Quinn moves to open the door and instead of Puck, Shelby is utterly shocked to see Rachel on the other side, her hand poised to open the door. Quinn must have been upstairs watching for her arrival.

Rachel takes a step inside and towards Quinn.

"Good morning Quinn. I hope of your evening faired well and your sleep was restful. No person can over stress the importance of a undisturbed night's sleep. The Australian Koala I imagine is the quintessence of health and mental aptitude," Rachel is babbling and Shelby can't help but think her charming.

Quinn smiles, "Well, I haven't a clue what a Kole-ah is but I'm sure you'll be able to enlighten me."

Rachel smiles right back before looking past Quinn's shoulder and noticing Shelby. When she spots Kurt she squeals and skips over to them. Kurt doesn't squeal but he does jump up and embrace Rachel in a familiar hug.

Kurt chuckles as he releases her, "Good morning my dear. I assume you slept well since you're obviously still capable of those obscenely long sentences."

Rachel swats at his arm and Shelby wonders how they came to be such good friends so quickly.

Quinn joins them but doesn't look at anyone but Rachel, "Shall we be going?" she asks.

Rachel nods, "Yes I fear that if I delay too long then Private Karofsky may decide to storm the house. He's so serious, I'm actually somewhat fearful for the life of anyone who might try to intercept us."

Shelby glances out the windows to see a stern looking soldier standing to attention with his rifle held ready across his chest. He certainly does look intimidating.

Rachel hooks her elbow around Quinn's arm and turns them both back toward the still open door, "Once more unto the breach, dear friends," she declares theatrically before throwing an easy farewell back over her shoulder.

Kurt shuts the door behind them, "Well that was bracing," he chuckles. "I wish I knew what had gotten into those girls. Maybe I could get some of it for myself."

— s — — b —

Brittany wonders how she got so lucky. With Santana's arm looped with her own they walk along a quiet street with the sun shining she doubts anything could be better. She walks tall despite her injuries because Santana is her friend. No matter how she might feel about Santana she knows that Santana cares for her. Their progress is slow with Brittany needing to occasionally stop and catch her breath. They don't really talk but the journey is still shorter than Brittany would like. Even the comfortable silence between them fills her with a warmth she treasures.

Santana releases her arm and takes the few stairs so she can knock briskly at the door. The Doctor answers but it's clear that she is not happy to do so.

"Santana? What are you doin here? It's the arse crack of good morning," she opens the door a little further and they can see she hasn't pulled her coat or shoes on yet.

Santana pushes the door open the rest of the way. "I need a favour Beiste," she says shortly.

"I don't think you've earned any favours with me Santana," she says with a stern look.

Brittany knows the Doctor will see them when she sees a hint of a smile hidden in her eyes.

"What's this favour anyway? Your exam was fine. Perfect health. This isn't for Quinn is it?"

Santana glances back over her shoulder and Dr Beiste follows her gaze to Brittany. Her eyes flick over Brittany's face and down her body, pausing on Brittany's hand which is held against her ribs. All the walking has aggravated every ache she has.

"Good heavens. What happened to you boy? You look like you've been put through a thresher."

She opens her door the rest of the way and Brittany accepts the invitation inside. She blinks to adjust to the dimness. Dr Beiste guides her by the shoulder to a high-set table in the corner. Brittany sits on the table as Santana arrives at her side. She's glad to find a thin mattress underneath her.

The doctor starts opening windows and gathering lamp to brighten the area around Brittany.

"Take you shirt off," she says brusquely. "How long ago did this happen? Has anyone looked at you yet?"

Santana answers for her, "Night before last and no, noone's seen him yet." She looks worried and Brittany hates that she's caused her distress.

"But this is the thing Bieste. I need to know that whatever you find is not to leave this room. Understand?"

— s — — b —

Shannon looks between the two of them. Santana is looking at her seriously and there's a hint of a threat in her voice. It's mildly unsettling but really, she's just a little girl. No matter how ferocious she might be or how that ferocity is all directed toward Shannon. Santana stands protectively between her and the boy who looks like he's been badly beaten.

Shannon tries to reassure her, "Anything you say or I that I see in here is confidential. You know that."

Santana still looks pensive as she glances back toward Brent. Her posture is extremely protective; her every gesture centred around the boy. She cares deeply for him and the affection between both of them is even more defined than it was two days ago.

"It's very important," she says, pleading for Shannon to understand.

It's still unclear what is going on and even though Shannon would like to assure Santana, she just doesn't understand what she's agreeing to.

Suddenly Brent speaks, putting his hand on Santana's shoulder. "Santana, can you wait outside please?"

Santana looks confused and a little hurt as she turns to face him, "Do you really think that's a good idea?" she asks.

Brent takes her hand easily and Shannon sees the girl soften at the touch.

"It's okay, San. Trust me." He says the words with a self assured smile.

Santana's lips quiver at the edges as though she's fighting a smile of her own. "Okay, I'll be right outside," she assures him.

Brent gives her hand a squeeze before letting go and Santana walks quickly to the door. She shoots Shannon a dangerous look before closing the door behind her with a thud. Shannon can see her shadow moving over the window as she begins immediately pacing.

Shannon looks at Brent appraisingly, "I'd love to know what you've done to that girl."

Brent looks confused, "I haven't done anything."

Shannon chuckles, "Just natural, animal attraction then. Very well, off with that shirt. I need to see the damage that's going on before you drop dead."

Brent doesn't move, instead pinning her with an appraising stare.

"You're a woman," he says finally. It's not a question and there is absolutely no doubt in his eyes.

The boy knows her secret and there is nothing Shannon could say to convince him otherwise. Shannon could swear that she just got to experience what Cardiac dysrhythmia feels like. She pulls out her usual chair and sits down heavily. She considers Brent. His expression is open and curious, not accusatory. The way he sent Santana out of the room also suggests that he is willing to keep her secret.

"Okay, I have to ask how you figured that one out," she says with a nervous laugh.

Brent gives her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you're a very convincing man. I'm just a little more observant than most. Also…" he hesitates before continuing. "Your costume is much more convincing than mine."

Brent continues to look at her, asking her silently to understand. Shannon tries to. She looks at the boy in front of her, observing all the things that had caught her attention the first time. The slender figure, the fine features.

"You're hidin too," she suddenly realises.

Brent nods, "Yes and you can't tell anyone. It's so important." she pleads.

Shannon shakes her head, "No, this is not the same thing," she says emphatically. "You're puttin yourself in danger."

Brent shakes his head, "No I'm not. I'm strong and I'm not scared of what might happen to me."

Shannon scoffs and gestures to the Soldier's face, "Look at what has already happened. How did all this come about then?"

Brent looks down, "I took a beating from some of the men," she mumbles.

"You took a beatin and I'm supposed to just patch you up and put you back into that Company without a thought? That's not right."

"I thought you'd understand. I need this doc, really I have nothing else. I have nowhere to go."

She looks close to tears and Shannon's resolve begins to waiver.

She sighs, "What's ya name anyhow?"

The girl looks up at her, tears glistening but not falling "Brittany Pierce. It's the only lie I told, I swear."

Shannon waves off the declaration, "Well you picked a gooden fer your only lie. Fine then, let me look at the rest of ya then we can have a talk about yer situation after."

Brittany takes off her cap and drops it to the table. Then she unbuttons her shirt.

Shannon catches a movement at the window and chuckles despite herself. Santana is still pacing quickly back and forth waiting for her soldier. Although, now Shannon has to reconsider all the assumptions she had made given this new piece of information. She had felt so sure that Santana was smitten over this soldier and all his charming little peculiarities. It had even seemed the feeling was mutual between them. Unless Santana doesn't know that Brent is actually Brittany. That would make a lot of sense. The only question would be why Santana felt she needed to threaten Shannon to secrecy.

"What secret does Santana think I'm keepin?" she asks.

Brittany is unbuckling her belt but looks up at Shannon in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"Well if she doesn't know that you're a girl then why did she come in with intent to maim if I didn't keep your secret. What secret does she think I'm keeping?"

"Oh, no she knows. This is all there is," she says peeling her undershirt away to reveal the bruises littering her torso and the bandages wrapping her chest.

Shannon is unsure how to respond but lets out a small sound of surprise, "Huh."

— s — — b —

I pace back past the door again, exceedingly perturbed by this course of events. I never thought that Brittany would ask me to leave and it's driving me half way up the wall having to wait around outside. Having Brittany so close and being unable to see or touch her—I just can't sit still.

After what must be the fiftieth pass of the door it finally opens. I rush up the stairs and nearly run into Brittany where she stands in the doorway.

"Sweets, what's going on, I've been giving myself over to nerves out here," I wrap my arms around Brittany's waist needing to know that she is there and safe.

Brittany holds me around the shoulders and squeezes tightly. I'm surprised by the strength of it and I lean back to look at her face. Her eyes are glazed and her smile is somewhere between _that_ smile and a dopey grin.

"Hey, Sanny. I missed you. The doc is gonna keep my secret real good," she says with a tiny slur in her words.

"Oh Sweets, what did he give you?" I ask, guiding her back into the room and putting her in a chair.

"Beiste!" I call out when I find the room empty. "Beiste get in here and tell me what you did to her right now."

Brittany refuses to stay sitting. She stands up to slip her arms around my waist from behind and I can feel her nuzzling into my hair. A shiver runs through me at the sensation but I step out of her arms as the Doctor comes back into the room.

"Stop with the yellin would ya."

"No I won't stop with the 'yellin'!" I say aggressively. "Not until you tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to give her opium."

Beiste looks at Brittany before returning his stern gaze to me, "What I give my patients is not your concern Santana."

I feel the anger rising in me further, "It _is_ my concern when you're dosing up my—my friend."

I realise that friend just doesn't feel like a big enough word when I have this expansive feeling in my chest again.

Beiste looks between Brittany and I curiously. "Your friend," he repeats.

"I've seen what that tonic does to Quinn," I say, pushing past his curiosity. "Why would you give it to her?"

"Because she's in a lot of pain," he says emphatically, gesturing to Brittany who is now pawing at my hair.

I pull her hand away from my hair and keep it in mine, "So there isn't anything else?" I ask calming slightly as I realise he's right. She was in pain and now she isn't.

The doctor shakes his head, "No there isn't anything else. She can have willow bark in a few days but for now the tincture is the best option. She has a broken rib and severe abdominal bruising. I'm amazed she even got here under her own power, especially all the way from Corcorans." His look is speculative as he looks between us. "I understand she spent the night there again."

I nod, not particularly trusting my words right now. Thinking of how much damage she might have done to herself, coming to Corcorans to see me. Guilt worries at my mind.

Beiste looks like he would ask me something else but thinks better of it instead saying, "She's certainly made of some tough stuff, I'll give her that much."

"So, what do I do with her now? Were you really going to let her wander through town like this?"

Beiste shakes his head. "Of course not. I was just getting another dose for her to take back to camp. She was meant to sit still. But obviously she had other things in mind."

"So where does this leave us now?" I ask, batting Brittany's other hand away from my hair. "I can't take her back to Corcorans. Shelby will kill me."

Brittany gasps, "No Sanny, she won't kill you cause she loves you."

I try to look stern when she picks up another lock of my hair holding it between her thumb and forefinger. She twists it in the light from the window. She has such a look of wonder in her eyes that I can't help but smile.

Beiste shakes his head wearing an indulgent smile that I would love to slap off him. "She needs to go back to her own camp for bed rest. I'll be drafting up a letter for her NCO," he turns to Brittany. "It was Anderson right?"

Brittany drops my hair to answer but then gets distracted by the arc of it's fall, staring where the lock rests against my shoulder. I squeeze her hand to regain her attention.

She looks up at Beiste, "Sure Beasty," she smirks. "Anderson'll be the right guy. He's my favourite—I mean I'm his favourite." she says elongating her vowels and gesturing to her face.

I shake my head at how obviously high she is. "How much did you take Sweets?" I ask her, my voice low.

She lifts up the hand that I'm holding, keeping mine securely in hers as she tries to signify a distance between her thumb and fingers.

"This much," she says before realising with a frown that her fingers aren't quite manoeuvring around my hand in the way she would like.

"You could ask her how much she took _if_ you like goin around yer elbow to get to yer thumb." Beiste chuckles at us. "She's had enough to put her down fer the rest of the day once she finds her cot and you give her another dose."

Brittany is still holding our hands up to her eyes, counting out a one two three four rhythm with each of her fingers against the back of my hand. I place my other hand over our two and press down, patting the back of her hand gently before turning to Beiste, "So she's just going back to camp to sleep it off?"

Beiste gives an affirmative nod and returns to his desk to finish the note for Lieutenant Anderson.

Brittany is back to nuzzling my hair; her chest is pressed up against my shoulder.

"Please make this message brief Doctor."

He makes a final stroke of his pen with a little flourish and folds it in half handing it and a small box to me. I take both and leave without preamble, dragging Brittany behind me.

The camp isn't very far away but it seems like it is; Brittany wants to stop and look at things every few yards. It takes us five minutes just to progress beyond the road immediately in front of the doctors office because Brittany notices the light shining off my hair.

"But San, it's just so beautiful. Have you ever seen it? It's like—it's like polished ebony. Or maybe jet or like raven feathers, all glossy," she muses. "Or midnight blue but darker."

My hair alone is enough to delay us but then there are water puddles and even the sky is a source of overwhelming interest. So we stumble from one shiny thing to another until finally the camp comes into view and I have to keep Brittany from running the rest of the way. She takes a few rushed steps forward but slows quickly, gripping at her side. Her smile doesn't dim but there's an edge of pain in her eyes.

"I think I hurt myself again San," she says with a small laugh.

"That's why we need to get you to your cot. Then you can sleep and have pleasant dreams with no pain."

"Will you stay with me?"

I hesitate, considering what Shelby's reaction might be if I didn't return to the House straight away.

"I can't Brittany."

She nods, her expression a little more solemn, "Okay, I understand."

"Good, now which one is yours?"

We've entered a sea of white tents and I finally realise how hard this will be if she's too high to find her tent for us. There are a few soldiers milling about, giving us curious looks but no one stops to offer any help. I even see a few sneering looks which I return with interest.

Brittany tears her eyes away from my hair long enough to look along the row of tents. She laughs, "I don't know where we are."

She says it with such joy but it makes my heart sink a little. She's started leaning against me like she's getting sleepy and I know that I won't be able to support any more of her weight. No matter how slim she might be. There's a lot of muscle on her bones and I'm not that strong.

I look around for a face I might recognise from the House. No one looks familiar and we can't just stand around all day so I move us forward, hoping that either someone will eventually help or Brittany will recognise something.

We walk down several rows before I see someone I know. It's the boy, Evans that escorted Sugar back to Corcorans that day Brittany showed me our wishing star.

"What's going on here?" he asks, an accusation in his voice as he takes in Brittany's lazy smile a relaxed posture.

"Evens, thank goodness. I thought we would be wandering around this damn maze all day."

His eyes narrow further at my cursing, "You want to find his tent? What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything," I say defensively. "I forced him to see the Doctor who gave him Laudanum for the pain. I assume you know about his injuries?" I ask with accusation colouring my own voice.

Sam looks suitably subdued, "Yes, but he refused to see the medic. I didn't even think of suggesting the town doctor. Why would I?"

"It doesn't matter now," I say quickly as Brittany starts toying with the fabric on my skirt. Can you direct us to his tent or not?"

Sam nods and quickly turns us back the way we came then across two rows of tents to a third where he finally points out Brittany's tent.

"Get him into his cot and I'll be back. I'm just going to find Anderson to let him know what's going on. I know he'll be glad to hear that Brent saw any kind of doctor."

I tug Beiste's note from the laudanum package and hand it to Evens before he can run off, "Give this to him. It explains everything."

I don't see him leave as I lead Brittany into her tent.

It's warm inside with the sun beating against the side. I'm surprised to see that hers is the only bed inside. It seems unusual but I know better than to ask Brittany about it in her current state. She's flopped down on the cot and is undoing her buttons. She only gets half way before attempting to just lift the shirt over her head. It doesn't work out so well since her jacket is still on.

"Let me Sweets," I direct her to lower her arms so I can push the jacket off.

I kneel on the ground in between her knees to finish the job on her buttons and push her shirt over her shoulders. In the bright white light of the tent I can see the faint stain down the front of her undershirt that must be from a bloody nose. It hurts me every time to think of the beating that caused it. I long to find those responsible and make them hurt just as much Brittany does.

Brittany's eyes are drooping heavily and her smile is fading. I quickly untie the laces of her boots and drag them from her feet. I place them and her clothes in a neat pile in a space under the cot.

Everything in the tent seems to have it's own place and there's an orderly feel to the space. I'm surprised since I had imagined Brittany to be a more haphazard and messy person. I have to suppose that it makes sense she'd be careful of her belongings when she obviously has so little. The few details I was able to glean from our conversation last night suggest that she had nothing of her father's wealth when she joined the army. It makes me curious to see what she's kept; I want to look around the tent more but I feel like it would be intrusive to do so given Brittany's current state.

"Sweets, I'm going to give you another tincture and then you can sleep okay," I pull the cap off her head and hang it from a peg in the tent pole.

She nods so slowly that by the time she's done, I have the little bottle held out for her to drink. She takes it from me wordlessly and drinks it in one gulp. She grimaces like she does with whiskey and I can't help but find it adorable.

I take the bottle back from her and push gently against her shoulder, indicating for her to lie down.

She does so while mumbling something about dreaming.

"That's right Sweets. Nothing but sweet dreams. The doctor has left instructions in the box for when you wake up okay?"

She nods with her eyes closed.

I lean down and press a kiss to her cheek, just at the corner of her lips. The frown that had formed changes instantly back to the lazy smile.

"Be careful Sweets," I say, gently pushing a stray whisp of blonde hair from her face. "You still owe me a dance, remember."

She nods a little but I'm not sure if it's actually a response or if she's just falling asleep. She sighs out a gust of air then her breathing grows steady.

I watch her sleep for a few minutes longer before I know that I have to get back to the House. I'll already be missing some of the early chores.

I eventually get to my feet, spotting a neatly folded blanket as I do. I pull it loosely up over her chest. I test the temperature of her forehead with the back of my hand. She seems well enough and I turn my hand to run my palm over her uninjured cheek to her jaw.

I withdraw my hand quickly when she turns slightly in her sleep mumbling a few more words, "I'll keep this," she says nonsensically. Then, "My Santana."

I feel a tingle run through my body, radiating from that expansive place in my chest.

I now know what words can encompass the thing that I couldn't express when talking to the doctor earlier.

I am Brittany's.

And Brittany is mine.

— s — — b —

In a haze of opium and brandy, Brittany dreams of her night with Santana. The details are rich and true to reality. Every kiss, every word and gesture is finer than any fantasy her dreaming mind could create. She feels it all and more as her mind continues to luxuriate in infinite, glorious bliss.

— s — — b —

I don't really remember walking back to Corcorans but I find myself with a brush in hand scrubbing already clean boards in the second floor hall. Sugar is humming her usual songs and Quinn is joining in singing the Hymns.

I don't hear any more of their gossip as Brittany's words continue to ghost through my mind.

My Santana.

That expansive feeling never weakens as I think and feel over and again.

My Brittany.


	12. Glad To Have You

**AN:** Hiya lovelies! Hectically long chapter is hectic here so I'm terribly sorry for any poor editing on my part. It's just there were these three girls called Rachel, Santana and Quinn, they would just _not_ stop talking and suddenly there was thirteen and a half thousand words. Not much direct Brittana this chapter(mostly indirect) but I'll be back into the fluffy stuff next chapter along with some angst. I hope everyone read the latest chapter of White Shadows. It was wonderful as always although it kinda made me want to go write some smut cause it's so wonderfully visceral(that kind of scene is still a while away for this fic, sorry guys still plenty of build up to go).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. There's gonna be a gap between now and the next post because next week is my last week for uni. I'm into summer break after that so I'll have vast acres of time in which to plant crops(and write more fiction, yay!)

stay awesome!

* * *

The storm rolled across camp in the late afternoon. Rain billows up off the hot ground in clouds of steam. The smell of saturated soil permeates the tent where Brittany keeps peeling; carrots this time, which feels like a substantial step up from potatoes. She's positioned the barrel by the tent opening so she can watch the men training. They're all drenched through with steam rolling off their backs but she still wishes she was out there with them.

She's been all but bed ridden for the last three days, drowning in a haze of laudanum. The pleasant dreams didn't last beyond those first few hours and she's been lost in a fog ever since. Happily, she used up the last of the prescribed tonic to sleep last night and she's finally starting to feel clear again.

Now that her mind is clear enough to register things like time and distance, all she can think about is Santana and how she misses her. She'd hoped Santana would come see her. She isn't sure if Santana knows she can't leave the camp. The note the doctor left with the laudanum had strictly forbade Brittany moving more than a hundred feet from her tent. She had tested the hundred feet in every direction, hoping to somehow make it to Corcorans by some method of theurgy. She never even made it to the main thorough fair.

She still thinks of Santana in almost every moment. She wishes she could hold her hand again or look into her eyes as they talk about nothing and everything. She's writing a list of things that she wants to ask once they're together again. The list includes small but significant things like Santana's favourite colour. There's also big important questions like what happened to her mother and father.

On the back of the same piece of paper is another list; It's titled The Most Wonderful Things About Santana. Number one is the scrunchy face she makes when she really makes her laugh. Number eight is the feel of Santana's lips against that soft curve of flesh by her hip. Number twenty four is the way Santana holds important things in her left hand.

Sometimes(usually straight after a fresh dose of Laudanum) number eight becomes number one followed closely by number twelve: the subtle curve of Santana's torso when she wears her corset without anything over it.

The whole list is mentally rearranged almost hourly and the order doesn't really matter anyway. There isn't a part of Santana that doesn't make Brittany want her all the more. She wants to hold her and keep her for herself. She aware that the possessiveness she feels is poorly placed and likely to get her hurt; she doesn't care. She can't and won't change how she feels. The lists she carries in her breast pocket at all times is a just small part of her wanting.

Brittany has considered what would happen if someone found her list; it isn't a happy thought. She's not sure if she would sooner die from embarrassment or the beating she could receive for being such a sissy. Even with the tenderness of the bruises at her side, she feels it could be the embarrassment. She can't bear to think of throwing out that piece of paper though; she's especially fond of the second side.

— s — — b —

I shift another bottle into its place behind the bar. The House is moving along at its usual hectic pace and all of the girls have been busy. After the Wednesday Night show there's been a predictable build in business. A turn of the weather to warmer temperatures has also brought in many a fresh prospector. Young and old, they're all here to take what they can get out of the hills around Clothier. Whether they left sweethearts or wives back home isn't important. They all have that extra energy and money to burn when they actually find something worth selling; they inevitably bring all of that to Corcorans.

"Santana honey, can you take the Brandy bottles out of that case and leave them by the window?" Shelby is sitting on the other side of the bar with an assortment of papers in front of her.

The endless list of numbers are a complete mystery to me but Shelby has been taking notes and making scribbles along the side so I can only assume she finds it all very useful.

"You're wearing that creepy I'm-happy-ask-me-how smile Shelby," I say, shifting the last bottle. "So either you have a new someone playing under your skirts at night or we're doing well for ourselves."

Shelby scoffs, "Well I have nothing to say on the first and a lot to say on the second. Take that as you will."

I smirk at her as I move to grab the next crate. "If only you could fuck the numbers right?"

"Speaking of numbers," Shelby says smoothly. "How old is that boy of yours really?"

"Brent's fairly certain that he's twenty one," I say easily, still removing bottles from their crate.

I've stopped trying to deny anything when people talk about Brent as 'my soldier'. Since that morning in Brittany's tent I've more or less embraced the notion of Brittany as mine. Even if it isn't in the way that everyone thinks. Trying to persuade anyone otherwise is only putting Brittany in danger; everyone can assume whatever they like. I know the affectionate bond we have. I think Brittany knows it too. I hope Brittany knows it.

"So, he doesn't know how old he is?" Shelby asks, utterly bemused.

"He might be a little younger," I suggest, thinking of that first(sober) conversation we had. "He never managed to get a handle on calendars."

Shelby laughs and I can't help but smile even as I think that I should probably help teach Brittany how to use a calendar some day soon; maybe figure out exactly how old she is.

Shelby puts down her pen and leans her elbow against the bar with her chin in her hand. She's frowning slightly and looking at me speculatively.

"You really like him," she says as though it's something of a revelation.

It feels good to just nod my agreement, "He's a good man and a great friend."

Shelby's eyebrows pinch together in obvious confusion.

"Don't look at me like that," I say, trying not to sound overly defensive.

"Then please explain," Shelby's expression changes to an imploring one. "If I'm looking at you in any way, it's in confusion. You aren't acting like yourself at all. This boy has turned you inside out and back to front in a way I have never seen before. You've been blushing and grinning like a fool—"

"So, what's your question?" I ask, arching an eyebrow in my best imitation of the Fabray glower.

Shelby sighs, "Look Santana, your skinny little ass was dropped into this house when you were barely fifteen years old and still, I have never seen you so affected by any man before," she hesitates on her next words. "Honestly, I didn't think you ever would be." She says the words slowly and gives me a pointed look as though I should understand more than just the words she says.

"So what, I'm such a heartless bitch that I could never feel anything for anyone?" I ask without any hurt. I know that's what most people think of me.

"No that's not what I mean Santana. I'm certain that you have so much love to give; if you would just let the right person see past those walls of yours," again she hesitates, looking into my eyes seriously as she continues. "I just never thought the one to see past those walls would be a—"

"Shelby! What the hell does this mean?" Kurt runs in amidst a flurry of fabric.

Shelby looks a little put off and I wonder what the rest of her conclusion might have been. Though whatever has made Kurt lower his vocabulary to the 'H' word must be pretty distressing so I unashamedly eavesdrop as he approaches Shelby at the bar.

Kurt's voice remains shrill as he continues talking at a rapid pace, "Tina just handed me the new swatches of fabric you ordered from Sante Fe. What's the meaning of this?" He thrusts the swatch under Shelby's nose.

The fabric is heavy and patterned in a way that makes it seem inappropriate for clothes.

"You know what their for Kurt," Shelby says, clearly displeased with Kurt's interruption.

"You're not telling me," his voice rises in pitch and he starts to bounce on his feet. "I can actually redecorate the rooms?" He literally squeals and jumps up and down as Shelby nods, "Oh you won't regret this Shelby. Everything is going to look so amazing and classy, you won't even recognise it. Maybe I'll get Rachel to help me. I'm sure she'll have some wonderful ideas. From how she describes her home it would seem she grew up in quite—" he cuts himself off at Shelby's expression. "Or I'll get Sugar to help."

He hugs Shelby one more time before regathering the fabric and disappearing up the stairs, "Sugar! You'll never believe…"

I don't hear anymore and I'm infinitely glad to be working downstairs and nowhere near Kurt. I'm meant to be working alone all day. My work behind the bar is the first in a list of things that need attending. It's unusual for me to be separate from my roommates so I'm glad for a chance to just be.

— s — — b —

Brittany takes a deep breath, continuing her staring match with Dr Beiste's door. Anderson wants her to get approval from the doctor to return to training tomorrow. She begged the Lieutenant to let her run with them but he won't without the doc's approval. The fact is, she knows she won't get it. The bones will take weeks, probably months to heal properly. She just can't stand being so inactive for such a long time. She's bored out of her mind.

She finally lifts a hand to knock and the sound of her knuckles against the door make her flinch at the memory of when Santana knocked on the same door. She had been somewhat numbed by Santana's presence at the time but the pain was definitely still there.

There's movement inside and a short black woman with a pleasant face opens the door. Brittany is sure she's seen her at Corcorans.

"Brent Pierce," she says, smiling like Brittany is her new favourite person. "I haven't seen you at the House for days."

"Er no Miss," she says carefully in Brent's voice.

"Mercedes,"she smiles even more brightly. "I work with Santana,"

Brittany stands awkwardly for a moment before registering the introduction. She tips her hat and looks past Mercedes into the doctors residence. "My apologies Miss Mercedes, is the Doctor in?"

"Oh he's certainly in," she says still not letting her proceed inside. "I'd heard you were a very polite boy. How old are you anyway?"

I'm really not sure how to take this woman. She seems to be fishing for information and though she has a little more decorum than Sugar, she is far less refined than Quinn seemed to be.

"Never mind, I'm sure I can find out some other time," she says, waving a dismissive hand at her.

"Are you on your way out Miss Mercedes? I could walk you back to the House if you'd like," Brittany offers, gesturing up the street.

"No need, Avery is here with me so we'll just walk back together." She gestures behind her where the other girl must be inside with the doctor.

Brittany steps hurriedly back from the door. She doesn't want to walk in on the girl like she did with Santana that one time.

"Oh well maybe I should come back another time," she stutters out.

"No you don't, soldier boy," Mercedes grabs Brittany by the wrist and forcibly drags her into the room.

These Corcorans girls really do have a wholly different idea of appropriate physical contact.

Brittany only catches a glimpse of the room before her eyes automatically find the floor and she quickly spins to face the window by the door.

Mercedes laughs as she closes the door behind them. "Do you blush this hard when you visit with our dear Kitten?" she asks.

She feels her face heat further. Something in Mercedes words gets through her embarrassment though. "Our dear Kitten?" she asks.

"Santana," Mercedes explains unnecessarily.

"No, I know. I just mean—you said 'our dear'. Do you care for her very much?" It's something that had worried Brittany some, not being able to see Santana for so long.

There are a few questions in her list about how Santana gets along with the other girls in the House. Brittany wants to know that she has more people who care about her.

"Of course we do. She's one of us, a fallen sister," Mercedes explains with an easy shrug.

"Bitch whore of a sister you mean," suggests the girl who must be Avery, making Brittany frown. Brittany can't help but turn slightly towards the voice that comes from the other side of the room.

"Oh shush Avery, Santana just has a unique way of expressing herself, isn't that right Brent?"

"Kitten's Brent?" Avery asks excitedly.

Brittany's eyes return to the floor before she can see who the voice is connected to.

"Ahuh," Mercedes makes an agreeing sound.

Avery is shushed by a voice that must belong to the doctor, "Would you shush the chatter, I'm tryin to listen to ya brethin not ya talkin."

Mercedes is still looking at Brittany like she wants an answer. Brittany thinks of the second list, specifically number eighteen.

"She always tells the truth in her own beautiful way," Brittany says softly, the blush still burning her cheeks.

Brittany looks up long enough to see Mercedes grinning at her.

— s — — b —

I jolt stupidly when I turn for my next crate of bottles and find Rachel Hudson standing far too close behind me.

"Jesus Christ, Lavinia Warren! Don't sneak up on people like that!"

"Who's Lavinia Warren?"

I shrug, "She married Tom Thumb."

"Isn't she about three feet tall?"

"Your point being?"

I expect her to look offended and she really should be but for some reason she just stares at me. That innocent, inquisitive attention that she gives everything in the House is turned to me; she studies ever scotch bottle, candle stick and cornice in the same way. She even studies the girls with the same unabashed curiosity. Everyone gets it, at least everyone except for Quinn.

Rachel seems to idolise Quinn in a way that I just don't understand. She follows her around in the most mundane of activities asking questions and making notes. The how of it completely escapes me but Quinn actually seems the happier for Rachel's persistent presence. I think I've seen Quinn talk and smile more in the last week with Rachel than ever before. For some reason though, Rachel's bright attention is now turned to me.

She clearly wants to ask me something and I'm sure I won't like it. "So your immediate reaction to my frightening you—"

"Startled," I correct her.

"Okay, so even though I startled you," she continues. "The first thing you think of is an insult based on my height in reference to a midget who's name I would very probably not know."

I cross my arms over my chest, "What of it, Thumbelina?"

She rolls her eyes, "Another height joke?" she asks.

"Thumbelina is a tiny person in an Anderson story," I explain. "Danish fairy tales."

"Of course," she says with a small, incredulous laugh. "Quinn did say you're very quick witted."

I'm honestly surprised that Quinn would say any such thing. I feel flattered even.

"Are you very knowledgable about a range of subjects?" Rachel continues. "Or are you just well versed in topics useful in making jokes about my height?"

Her notebook is out on the bar and she has a pen at the ready.

"What are you doing?" I ask ignoring her question and nodding toward the notebook. "I thought you were following Quinn around."

Her cheeks get slightly darker though she manages to remain composed otherwise, "Quinn is one potential subject." She looks off to one side as she goes on, "as much as I enjoy conversing with Quinn, I'd like to get a wider cross section of the House. Since you and I have already been introduced I thought this would be an excellent opportunity to gain a fresh perspective," she stumbles before the end of the sentence and I know she's not telling the whole truth.

"You've been introduced to Sugar," I point out, really not in the mood to play along.

"Yes," she says hesitantly. "And I'm sure her natural…exuberance will be an interesting experience in future but for now I would very much like to know about you."

She gives me what is obviously meant to be a winning smile. I had seen both Shelby and Quinn fall under its influence. I however am not amused.

I glare her down, "Listen up Sideshow, I don't know how you've managed to worm your way—"

"Santana! Please show a little decorum." Of course Shelby would overhear the conversation at that point. "I know you weren't raised in a barn and even if you were, I'd like to think that I've taught you better since."

I hang my head in instant submission. I hate disappointing Shelby.

I look back into Rachel's downcast features and feel immediate regret for my severe words. I can't bring myself to apologise though.

"Fine," I huff, pointing at Rachel. "You might as well come with me. I could do with an extra pair of hands polishing the mountain of silver wear in the pantry."

Shelby clears her throat, "I think you'll be able to get it polished on your own. Don't you Santana?"

My shoulders drop and I turn my face to the ceiling. If I believed that any saints were actually watching over me I would consider asking them to give me strength. Instead, I pinch the bridge of my nose and count down from five. When I get to one I look back at Rachel.

"Come on then. Come _watch_ me polish silver. I'm sure it will be _just_ as fascinating as watching grass grow."

Rachel gives me a small smile and indicates that she is ready to follow me wherever I would go.

My destination being the kitchen pantry might not be glamorous but at least I'll be able to sit in peace if I can only get Rachel to shut up for a while.

I don't get the chance to even try. As soon as we're both seated at the large work bench with the cutlery and polishing rags between us she starts her questions, "So Santana tell me: where are you from, how did you get here and if you were an animal what animal would you be?"

"Hang on. I thought you were asking about the House. What would you want to know about me for? And for that matter what the hell kind of question is that animal thing?"

"The public wants to read about people Santana."

"Oh, 'the public'," I repeat mockingly.

She nods as though glad I'm understanding her, "Yes, I believe that the stories I'm collecting here and with the military will be of interest to a great many people. As to the animal question, I believe that you can learn a lot about a person from their answer."

I'm now firmly of the opinion that this girl is some trickster spirit sent to bother me to death.

"Okay, what animal would you be? A prairie dog?"

Rachel again ignores my disparaging tone to gnaw on her lower lip, contemplative as though she had never considered the answer to her own question before.

I roll my eyes at the performance.

"I would have to say, I'm a cat. I like my luxuries and pampering but I can certainly take care of myself."

"Oh is that right?"

She frowns. "Yes it is. I very much dislike that Finn sends soldiers with me everywhere I go. I would be perfectly safe on my own and I'm not frightened at all."

"Sure you aren't. Hold on. You always have a soldier with you? Who is it today?"

She gives me a nauseatingly knowing look, "Karofsky is attending this morning."

I try not to look too disappointed. If Evans had been the soldier then I could have asked about Brittany. Not being able to see her in three, nearly four days is causing an ache to build in my chest with every passing hour. The ache has settled in that expansive place by my heart. It's a small ache now but I know that there is plenty of space for it to grow.

It's possible that Rachel could know how Brittany is recovering. I could ask. I want to ask but knowing that she and Quinn had been conspiring to force Brent and myself together—pride keeps the question down.

Rachel circles something on her page, "So what about you? What animal would you be. I know the girls call you Kitten. Do you think that applies?"

"Of course not," I snap.

Rachel watches me patiently as I glare at her pen which continues to make pointless little doodles against the page. I growl and pull the pen out of her hand to smack it against her page aggressively. She flinches violently but doesn't look away from me.

"So tell me what you think you should be Santana," she reiterates.

I pick up the nearest spoon and start polishing it aggressively, "I don't know. Something that goes about unseen and unheard but talked about all the same." I'm still feeling sore over her and Quinn's schemes. "A mouse," I say finally, the conclusion feeling even more appropriate considering it's about as far from a kitten as one can get.

"Very good," Rachel says, not bothering to ask me why I chose that animal. "And what about the first question. I grew up in Washington though my place of birth is something of a mystery." She lets the sentence hang, obviously hoping that I'll ask her more about this mysteriously unknown birthplace.

I don't.

She clears her throat as I keep polishing, "Very well. Will you share the story of how you arrived here?"

I slam the polished spoon against the bench and pick up a new one from the pile. Of course I'm not going to share any of that with her and I'm definitely not going to be sharing any of it with her so-called public.

"Quinn suggested that you were brought here against your will when you were quite young," she prods. I don't respond so she continues. "Just fifteen years old. Is that correct?"

I don't answer but she scribbles something down in her notebook all the same. It's in a shorthand that I don't understand.

"I haven't said anything. What could you possibly be writing down?" I ask, frustrated that it's necessary. "And what kind of seventeen year old _girl_ knows shorthand anyway."

She blusters for a moment, "Eighteen thank you very much. And nineteen next month, I'll have you know."

"Well, I'm so sorry wise and decrepit one. Please forgive me my indiscretions," my voice is thick with biting sarcasm.

"Oh stop it Santana," she snaps at me, smacking the pen to the table. "Everyone had said that you are contrary, awful and bitter. I didn't want to believe it which is a part of why I'm here talking to you now. I wanted to know why someone as young and as obviously beautiful as yourself could be so miserable and treat everyone so poorly. I wanted to help you but if you're going to insist on being eternally difficult then I guess I will try Sugar after all. I'm sure she will have some wonderful insights on ways I could improve my manner of dress. Perhaps I could do something useful with my afternoon."

She snaps her book shut and the sound makes me jump, "Wait!" I say automatically. Less than automatic is the apology I know needs to come next. "I'm—" I sigh, resigned. "I am everything they say I am. I'm awful to everyone all the time. I can only sometimes manage to be nice to Quinn and Mercedes—sometimes Sugar—and that's the people I love."

Rachel gradually lowers herself back into her chair. Her eyes are shining brightly with emotion and I finally realise that I'm crying. I don't usually cry unless I'm drunk and it feels strange sober. The last time I cried sober was—well actually—not that long ago. I cried over Brittany's injuries; her hurts made me hurt.

The sobs become stronger and I realise that it may have been a bad idea to think of Brittany. Not that I have any choice. She invades my thoughts at all times of day and the most common of objects can remind me of my absent friend. The whiskey bottles remind me of her. The rooms we've slept in together remind me of her. Any time someone mentions the Company, Dr Beiste or Wednesday Night concerts I think of her. Even the blue sky at certain times of the day will match the colour of her eyes perfectly.

Rachel pats my shoulder awkwardly, her fingers not quite lying flat against me. "There, there. You don't need to cry. I'm sorry I was so sharp with you. Sometimes my words and passions run away with me. I know it's unflattering and it's something that I try to work on. Oh, please stop crying."

"Have you seen him? Have you seen Brent?" I ask, surprising myself. I didn't even know the question was there until it was too late to pull it back in.

"Oh, is that why you're crying?"

"I've just been so—" I can't finish. I just hold the filthy polishing rag in my closed hand and my hand to my mouth as I try to control the tears.

Rachel makes a gentling noise then answers my questions. "His face is looking clearer, though I don't know the extent of his injuries otherwise. I believe he's back on light duties today."

Relief floods through me and a tension that I didn't even know I was holding releases. I'd been ignoring that gnawing worry and guilt I held for Brittany and her injuries. Every day that I didn't see her was another day that I could't know if she was ever going to come back to me.

"So he's recovering?" I ask Rachel through my tears to confirm.

I look up long enough to see her nod dumbly and then I lose control of my sobs once again. My whole body is shaking with the severity of it.

Rachel's hand finally lands more firmly on my shoulder, "I'm going to hug you now," And then she actually wraps her whole arm around me, the other joining to hold me securely to her.

I rest my head on her shoulder and let the comfort wash through me in a way I never would have before. Brittany gentles me even in her absence.

Rachel shushes me softly until the tears stop. Just as I consider pushing her away from me she lets go and steps away. I'm so glad; just as grateful to her for letting me go in time as much as for the hug itself. If I'd hurt her feelings by pushing her away from me I would have felt bad all over again. At some point the tears have actually become happy ones and I don't want this warmth in my chest to dissipate just yet.

"God, I'm turning soft," I say, wiping tears from my cheeks. I'm sure my face must be a mess.

I'm smiling for what feels like the first time in days. I know my heart warmed every time I thought of Brittany but it was always tempered by my worry.

Rachel mimics my smile. "You really do like him," She says quietly, a hint of almost awe in her voice.

I give a half choked laugh, "Shelby said almost exactly the same thing not half an hour ago." I look at Rachel carefully. Her eyes and the concern in them are so familiar. "You know, you really do look so much like her."

"Like who?" she asks, reopening her notebook. She doesn't make anymore notes, just lays her pen in the dip of the spine.

"Like Shelby," I explain, shifting in my seat to inspect her from a better angle. "The resemblance is actually uncanny."

Rachel scoffs, "I would thank you for the compliment since Ms Corcoran is quite beautiful but you're only noticing a few common features we share as Jewish women."

I frown, knowing that the resemblance goes further than that.

"It's like if I looked at you," she goes on, waving her hand in my general space. "Next to a Mexican for example and decided you shared a resemblance."

My frown deepens. "I'm Puerto Rican more than anything," I mumble automatically.

Rachel smiles and picks up the pen to start scribbling.

I can't believe she just played me.

"Horrid little cheat!" I exclaim. "You really are a bad, tiny trickster spirit, fairy," I continue to splutter.

Rachel's smile grows as she continues to scribble in her incomprehensible way.

"Don't get too excited," I suggest, feeling a smirk push away the last of my tears. "I grew up in Ohio."

It's more than I'd given anyone in a long time. Anyone besides Brittany who doesn't count in _this_ particular sharing game because she is the exception to my almost every rule.

I'm glad to find Rachel has at least a few boundaries after all when she doesn't repeat the question about my arrival at Corcorans. She just accepts my short answer and carries on. I decide that maybe I won't have to destroy her face. I'm sure Quinn will appreciate my restraint.

She's still scribbling when my curiosity gets the better of me.

"Why are you really here?" I ask. "I thought you and Quinn were well on your way to being the most awkward looking sisters in the world. I don't really believe that you would rather be here talking to me when you could be with her."

Rachel clears her throat and rubs at her nose.

"And don't try to lie to me Little Fairy, I know your game now and I'll know if you do."

Rachel huffs out a sigh, "She's mad at me."

"Why, what did you do?" It's my automatic response.

"I don't know," Rachel exclaims, sincerity clear in her voice; she's hurt, sad and confused. "Everything was so wonderful. We got along so famously since the first day—the first minute we met." She looks at me speculatively. "You're her friend right? I mean, you trust her and she you?"

I nod hesitantly, not having the faintest clue where this could be going, "We aren't much for sharing but, I guess you could say that."

Her eyes light up, "Then you can talk to her for me. You can figure out what I did wrong and then I can apologise."

"Oh, grow a backbone Tiny. Who says _you_ need to apologise?"

"You just assumed I did something wrong," she points out. " And, well I do have a tendency to say the wrong thing to almost everyone."

"And _did_ you say something obnoxious and awful to her?"

She looks away from me and I finally remember the cutlery I'm meant to be polishing.

"I don't think so, although," she hesitates, fiddling with an edge on her notebook.

"Although what?" I prompt.

"Well she has been acting somewhat strangely since Wednesday night. Finn—that's my husband—was somewhat rude to her."

"What did that gorilla say to her," I ask, instantly on the defensive.

She ignores the gorilla comment. "Mostly, he just didn't really want to be here. He—he doesn't understand why _I_ would want to be here actually and he made his feelings quite clear."

I scoff. I hadn't even spoken to the man and I could tell that he probably doesn't understand a lot of things.

"So she stopped speaking with you after that?" I'd seen them together yesterday so I know it can't be the case but I need Rachel to pinpoint what happened.

"No," she shakes her head. "I guess it was yesterday."

She starts drawing in her notebook again and I wonder if she has enough ink to get through the rest of this conversation.

"Okay," I say, trying to keep the impatience from my voice and mostly failing. "So you were together yesterday and something happened."

"It wasn't really an event. We'd spent some time talking about college education for women. Quinn was sewing a tear in her skirt, you know the one that keeps reopening." Rachel looks up at me to make sure I'm listening and I nod for her to continue even though all I can really think is that taking part in a conversation with these two women would be horribly dull.

Rachel continues, "We started debating the efficacy of John Stuart Mill's Subjection of Women paper," Rachel doesn't check to see that I understand which is good since I haven't a clue what she's talking about. She stares at a spot on the wall as though she can see the events she describes play out there. "I suggested that Quinn could write her own essay. Contribute her own understanding to the suffragists cause."

"And she didn't like this suggestion?" I conclude.

"Well, quite the opposite. She hugged me." Rachel blushes. "She had the queerest smile on her face, I didn't know what to think. Then without warning her smile was gone. She gathered up her sewing and left, barely taking the time to give excuses or say good bye."

"That's all there is? You told her to write about women's equality," I say the last words quietly, not sure how the topic would be received in the House. "Quinn hugged you—which is strange enough but not unheard of—and then she left in a big hurry even though she obviously had no where she needed to be."

Rachel nods solemnly, "Then this morning when I arrived she—" her voice stutters in a tearful choke but she mercifully doesn't cry. "She said some harsh things that I would prefer not to repeat and requested that I leave her be."

"Leave her be?"

"Yes, I believe her exact words were, 'I can't have you near me at all hours' and then she was gone." Rachel looks at me pleadingly. "Please Santana, I'm so worried that she hates me. I miss her. You have to help me."

"No I don't have to," I say and I see Rachel's chin wobble. I hurry on thinking of how much it hurts me not seeing Brittany, "But I will. Despite my better judgment, I will help you. But you have to do something for me."

Rachel's chin stills and she nods, "Of course, anything."

— s — — b —

When Mercedes and Avery eventually leave, Dr Beiste checks over Brittany's body thoroughly. She says 'ow' at least a hundred times as the doctor pokes and prods at almost every sore point in her abdomen. She suspects that the woman is being thorough just to remind Brittany of the damage done to her. Brittany is quite sure she doesn't need any reminders.

"Why in hell would I let you rejoin training in this condition Brittany?"

"Because I can't stand sitting, peeling potatoes any more. I'm going insane without a proper distraction."

"So you haven't left the camp at all?"

"Not until today."

"Good," the doctor says with a firm nod. "you might have a chance then."

"Of going back to training?"

"Of actually recovering properly." she says sternly. "Do you have any idea what can happen if you overexert yourself?"

Brittany shakes her head, not entirely sure what exert means.

"If you go running about with a fractured rib you can end up with pneumonia Brittany. It could kill you."

Brittany swallows, knowing that she doesn't have any choice. "What about the strength training? I can't run or anything but the Lieutenant has been working with me to get stronger." She thinks of Santana. "I want to be stronger."

Beiste nods her head, "I know you do, and I understand why that is but you're just gonna have to rest up for a bit longer."

"I can just do the arm stuff," she suggests in desperation.

"Maybe soon, Britt."

Brittany groans, "But how long?" she demands, impatience growing by the second.

Beiste gives her an appraising look before glancing back to the discoloured skin over her ribcage. "At least another week."

Brittany groans more loudly this time, utterly frustrated.

— s — — b —

I find Quinn polishing the glass window panes in our room. There is light streaming in and it's pretty clear that she has been in here for a while. Everything is perfectly straight and immaculately cleaned. Even the stout little bottle that had held my flowers has been given fresh blooms and placed in equal centre of the windowsill. The flowers are delicate with yellow petals. I preferred my flowers from Brittany.

"Your diminutive friend just left," I tell Quinn closing the door behind me.

Quinn jumps, holding a dramatic hand to her heart. I'd managed to sneak up on her in the loudest way possible.

She swallows, "Is she—" she obviously wants to ask how Rachel is but stops herself before she can.

"She's just a bit upset and confused," I answer her unasked question.

Quinn nods as though expecting this.

"What happened Quinn? You were inseparable for days and then suddenly you stop talking to her?"

Quinn shrugs, going back to cleaning the already spotless glass. "Nothing happened Santana."

I roll my eyes at her, "Oh nothing happened. Of course." I throw my hands up with over enthusiastic understanding, "Oh so _that's_ why I got to witness the horror of Rachel's cry-face. Because nothing happened." Quinn's hand halts against the window when I say the word 'cry'. "Hurry up and tell me Q. I've got better things to be doing with my time."

"It's nothing!" she snaps.

She turns to look at me over her shoulder and her expression is hard and determined. Just like it is every time she has to lead Puck upstairs. It's the mask she wears whenever she has to face something utterly distressing.

"This doesn't really look like nothing," I say gesturing to the room and sitting on her bed. "What happened yesterday Quinn?" I let the aggressive tone disappear from my voice. "You can tell me," I say softly.

Her expression finally breaks to reveal the pain and guilt in her eyes.

"I just can't be around her right now," she explains. "It's—it's too much, too confusing."

Gee that really clears things up, "And what does that mean?"

Rachel is annoying and she certainly talks too much but her circumlocution didn't seem to faze Quinn in the least. She even seems to find it endearing.

Quinn finally turns to slump against my bed by the window. The light streaming through puts her in shadow so that her expression is hard to see.

"Did she really cry?" she asks so quietly I barely hear.

I nod, "She tried not to but there were a few uncomfortable tears,"

_From both of us_.

She nods, looking utterly distraught.

"Why won't you just tell me Quinn?"

"Y—You wouldn't understand." Her voice is small when she speaks, her expression so conflicted I can't begin to guess where her turmoil could lay.

I'm not letting this go anytime soon, "So what does that mean?" I iterate.

She shrugs and I realise that there are tears shining in her eyes. "You have Brent, there's no—" she takes a deep, unsteady breath. "You have Brent so you couldn't possibly understand what I—what this means."

I join her on my bed so I can see her eyes. I hesitate to take her hand but the tear that runs down her cheek compels me to close the gap between us.

"Make me understand Quinn. What does any of this have to do with Brent and me?" I run my thumb over the back of her hand soothingly.

She shrugs again and looks away from me. I'll have to work out at least some of this on my own. I know Quinn better than anyone, I can read behind her words. I can work this out and help her.

She compared her friendship with Rachel to my friendship with Brittany. I try to find the logical points of comparison. She met Rachel only the day after I met my friend but that doesn't explain anything. I have become close to Brittany in a way I would never have expected to occur in a matter of days.

"I thought that you had become just as close with Rachel as I have to Brent," I tell Quinn.

Some expression flashes across her face then is gone. She swallows through her hesitation then nods.

The similarities beyond that are a mystery to me, yet Quinn asserts that my relationship with Brittany would prevent my understanding the relationship she has with Rachel.

But Quinn doesn't actually understand the friendship Brittany and I share. Quinn doesn't know that Brittany is a woman. She assumes like everyone else that we are lovers.

I consider the precise words Quinn used. She said that I wouldn't understand because I 'have' Brittany. I do have her as a friend; she is mine and I am hers. That isn't what Quinn means though.

Quinn said that I have Brittany so I wouldn't understand what it means for her to _not _have Rachel. She doesn't have Rachel in the way that I have Brittany. In any other words, Quinn _wants_ Rachel in the way that she thinks I have Brent.

I gasp as realisation and shock register at once. Quinn sees the change and immediately lets go of my hand and moves to her own bed.

The guilt and distress, explicit in her features and posture make me even more certain of my extreme conclusions. It seems wholly impossible and yet entirely probable simultaneously.

"Quinn, I don't know what to say."

"Of course you don't," she says, rubbing at her tear stained cheeks. "I don't know what to say, or think. I'm at impossible odds with everything that I have ever believed in or felt."

"You want Rachel in the way that I have Brent." It's not a question but she nods and I feel like a great revelation has been made. "How is this even possible?" I ask, feeling a great _something_ flicker at the edge of my understanding.

Quinn shrugs, despondency clear in the action, "Why does any person fall in—" she cuts herself off before continuing. "How does any person want another in _that_ way?"

She's avoiding certain words to describe what she feels and I understand her inclination to do so. My own mind balks at the potential in particular, more emotion laden words.

"But Rachel is—is," I struggle to place the appropriate words, I'm in such a state.

"Beautiful?" Quinn suggests. "Intelligent, poised, gracious, kind?"

"A woman," I point out finally.

Quinn nods as fresh tears stream down her cheeks. "And so am I," she concludes for me.

She finally looks up and seeing my shocked expression, a crease forms between her eyebrows.

"It's not so wholly unbelievable," she says quietly.

"It's not?"

She shakes her head.

My eyes widen, "So yesterday when Rachel said you left suddenly without reason?"

Her cheeks flood with colour again, "I wanted to kiss her. Of course."

"Oh 'of course'." I repeat. "I'm sorry I missed such an obvious conclusion Quinn." I say, deliberately mocking her casual tone.

She gives me a pointed glare, "Yes it is obvious once you know what it is. I'd felt that pull for days. Every time she said something incredibly intelligent or wonderful. When she would compliment me on something beyond my looks," she looks at me, pleading with me to understand. "There would be this feeling in my chest. Sometimes my whole body would just lean toward her and I would have to pull myself back." She looks at me seriously. "Don't you feel that with Brent?"

_Yes._

"No," I say, shaking my head.

"So you never looked into his eyes and knew that you wanted to stay there with him for ever?"

_Yes._

"Not really," I mumble.

"Has he ever touched you in the most innocuous of ways, maybe brushed his fingers over your wrist or the back of your hand and made your whole body shiver?"

I don't say anything more. She knows I'm lying and so do I. I've experienced all those things with Brittany. The night I kissed her bruised cheek, the same night I kissed her body was never innocent. No matter how I tried to tell myself it was.

"It doesn't mean that you want her in that way," I tell Quinn and myself sternly.

"Don't be so naive Santana. Of course it does."

"But it's impossible," I state flatly. It isn't possible.

"Please, don't pretend you don't know what Kurt is here for—"

"Of course I do. I'm not an idiot. But that doesn't mean—"

"Of course it means the same for women. Do you really believe, with all we've seen and done that we would really be so different from men."

I gape and stutter at her until my mind catches up to my feelings. I'm sure that _this_ is exactly the connection I had been missing.

"Did you know that sometimes a Trick will request two girls at once?" Quinn asks.

I shake my head no.

"So you've never heard of what usually happens?"

I shake my head no again.

She's blushing brightly but she continues regardless. "The Trick likes to see them together. He'll watch them pleasure each other—"

"Okay enough!" I hold up a hand and close my eyes as though I can block out Quinn's words more effectively if I can't see her.

Mercifully she stops speaking.

I inhale deeply through my nose and exhale through my mouth. My pulse is ragged and that warm feeling in my chest just won't cease.

I remember lewd comments that Puck and others have made in the past along with so many other tiny details. It suddenly all clicks together.

"How come none of my regulars have ever requested…this?" I ask, unsure what to call any of…it.

Quinn looks away from me, "I think that Puck actually has," she clears her throat in an awkward cough. "For the two of us."

"What!" I exclaim in shock. "How can I have not known about this?"

Quinn shrugs. "I don't know. Shelby organised two different girls and that was the end of it."

"So Shelby kept it from me," I say, as the truth of it hits me.

Shelby has been keeping me from this because she suspected…something about me. Is that what she would have said this morning if Kurt hadn't interrupted? She would never have thought that the person to get past my walls would be a _man_.

My breathing is getting shallow. Shelby isn't surprised by my new closeness with Brent because he's a Trick but because as far as she is aware, Brittany is a man.

I think of my every interaction with Brittany, of every time I took her hand or held her close to me. I think of our wishing place and how I couldn't think of a thing I wanted more than for her to be with me.

"Oh my god," I whisper in shock.

That expansive place in my chest is filled with warmth at my sudden, devastating cognisance. A flame is stoked beside my heart and I haven't a clue what to do with any of my feelings. They're all too big, too much all at once.

Quinn leans forward, a pleading look in her eye. "Please don't tell anyone Santana. I'm miserable enough already, I couldn't stand it if everyone else knew as well."

"Are you going to tell Rachel?" I ask. maybe they could be happy. Maybe _we_ could…

"No, I couldn't."

"Why not Quinn? If you're so sure of this…attachment then who's to say she doesn't feel the same way."

"And what if she does Santana? She's married. And I'm a whore."

"If you're so resigned then why cry over what you can't have? For that matter, if you want her so much then why avoid her?" I'm getting angry. Not at Quinn but at every part of this whole damned mess.

"Gee, thanks for your sympathy. If someone said that you couldn't have Brent. What would you do?" she asks, genuinely wanting to know the answer.

I swallow dryly. "Would you believe me if I said that I don't? Have him I mean."

She scoffs but I have to make her listen.

Every time I try to deny this relationship someone will laugh and a fresh joke will be made. I need _someone_ to understand.

"Listen Q. Please just pay attention for one second."

She makes a show of placing her hands delicately in her lap and sitting forward attentively. "Go ahead."

I take a deep breath. "You know I'm not a liar right?" she nods. "I might be horrible to basically everyone but I always tell the truth." Another nod leads me to continue. "Then please believe me when I say that I have _not_ had sex with Brent."

I look her square in the eye, begging her to understand me just like I understood her.

Her face clears and then she snorts out a laugh. I stare at her incredulously.

"It's not funny Quinn, don't laugh."

"But why not?" she laughs through her continued chuckles.

"Because this hurts and my pain is not funny."

She shakes her head as she laughs even harder, "No you idiot, why haven't you had sex with him yet?" she pauses and her eyes get wider. "Because you're waiting to be married?" she asks and then cackles as though her comment was the best kind of joke.

I launch myself over the gap between our beds and punch her hard in the arm. "It's not a damned laughing matter you horrible woman."

"Ow, you bitch," she exclaims quickly retaliating with a punch to my shoulder.

I make a grab for her hair and she snatches a hold of mine. It's an almost instant stalemate and we hold against each other, struggling and grunting in pain. At least Quinn has stopped laughing. Just before I can think of it myself, I feel Quinn's teeth grab onto the skin at my shoulder. I try to roll away, my grip on her hair loosening. I'm squirming away from her when she grasps my hands and pins me to my back. She straddles my hips and I know I'm not going anywhere.

"Stop squirming!" she says as I try to twist my wrists from where she's pinned them above my head. "And tell me why, if you want Brent, you haven't had him yet. Everyone knows that he's paid for the night with you twice already."

I think about telling her the truth. I hold her truth about Rachel now after all. If Quinn were to say anything then I could just expose her secret. But I can't do that to Brittany. I have to keep her truth as something precious.

My heart speeds up when Quinn's eyes grow wide with some realisation. "Is he really a eunuch then?" she asks her voice low and serious. "That would explain so much—"

"No he's not a eunuch!" I exclaim, automatically defending Brittany's non-existent masculinity. "I mean, it's not like that. Well it's." I want to say that it isn't to do with 'his' body but something stops me.

My shoulders fall flat against the bed as I finally give up fighting Quinn's hold on my arms. I still can't consolidate everything I'm feeling with what I know.

I thought I understood physical intimacy and what it meant. Everything I do to be able to eat and live and keep a roof over my head is based on this understanding. Is what I feel for Brittany really connected to any of that? I balk instantly at the notion. Brittany means so much more to me than anything at Corcorans. Do I want her the way that Quinn suggests she wants Rachel? Am I even understanding what Quinn is trying to explain to me? I don't know and I don't have a clue how to find out. I curse the both of us for being so perpetually closed off that we can't even talk about this properly.

The answer comes to me as I glance toward the window. "So you can't have Rachel and I can't have Brent." I sum up.

Quinn frowns, "I'm not sure I believe you on that score, but lets say I did."

I ignore her contrariness, "Then I recommend a remedy."

"What's that?" she asks gradually releasing her grip on my arms.

"We get drunk."

— s — — b —

Brittany delivers the doctor's note to Lieutenant Anderson. It outlines what Brittany can and cannot be doing physically over the next week and month. She briefly considers changing it to shorten the time frame but remembers what the doctor said about pneumonia.

Anderson sends her on her way quickly and she's glad to find her tent and cot. The walk to find the doctor had been exhausting and painful.

She finds sleep with a smile on her face though because she knows that she'll finally be seeing Santana tomorrow.

— s — — b —

"Shelby is not going to agree to this," Quinn says dismissively, even as she follows me down the hallway back to the saloon.

"And that's why we're not going to ask her. She won't even notice that we're missing until we're way too drunk to be any use to her."

Quinn sighs and I know she's joining me, "Why do I let you talk me into these situations?"

"Because you love me almost as much as you love oblivion." It's a little too close to the truth but she ignores my implications.

"Shelby is going to kill us both, you know."

"We've worked hard enough this week, she's already going to have to pay us. Someone else can deal with Puck and Will's peckers tonight."

Quinn's eyebrow quirks. "Will is still asking for you? Maybe he's finally getting over her."

"I doubt it. He was still crying for his Dear Emma this morning even after he sobered up, it's only a matter of time before he goes back to a red head."

She frowns again, obviously thinking of Puck. I want to ask her but we still need to find some liquor before that happens.

"Whiskey or Bourbon?" I ask her.

She scrunches up her nose, "Scotch," we both say at the same time.

We'll need to sneak into Shelby's private cabinet but the guaranteed tongue lashing will be worth it to have something decent to drink.

We sneak into the saloon. At least, we pretend to be sneaky whilst walking through the room full of busy people. We pretend to talk as we walk past the bar and into Shelby's office. The room isn't off limits to us, since Shelby generally trusts us enough to stay out of her private things. She puts anything truly important in her safe anyway. She also locks the Liquor cabinet but that isn't a problem for either Quinn or myself.

I stand at the door to keep a look out while Quinn gets to work picking the lock. It takes less than a minute for her to reappear at my side with the bottle in hand. I check our way back through the saloon. There isn't anyone who would stop us. I can hear Kurt squealing excitedly upstairs so I'm assuming that Shelby is probably there with him discussing the relative benefits of grey or blue window dressings.

I nod to Quinn and we silently slip back in behind the bar. I grab two glasses on the way and no one even looks at us as we cross to the other side of the room and into the hallway beyond. There's no one between us and our door and I share a relieved smile with Quinn when we find our room is still as empty and immaculate as we left it.

Quinn eyes the glasses in my hand as she closes the door behind us. "And here, I imagined you drinking straight from the bottle."

I quirk one shoulder in a shrug, "What can I say. I'm a sophisticated woman."

Quinn laughs as she takes both glasses from me and places them on the small cabinet between our beds. I'm glad she and I can both smile. Quinn can be as much of an angry drunk as I am a weepy drunk. If we start out smiling, maybe we can both just be happy drunks for a change. Even if everything we're about to talk about is awkward as a whore in confessional. I smirk at the appropriateness of my analogy as I pour a healthy measure of liquor into both glasses.

We don't make a toast or even look at each other as we take a seat on my bed and lean against the wall. Quinn crosses her legs under her skirts and I do the same.

I gulp down the first glass easily and pour myself another.

"Do you _want_ to have sex with Brent?" Quinn asks.

I'm not drunk enough to answer that question yet. "Do you want to have sex with Rachel?" I mimic her intonation.

Quinn blushes so brightly that I have to assume her answer is a yes. She finishes her own glass in a quick gulp. She's definitely at least thought about it. I push the bottle into her hands and she refreshes her own glass then leaves it on the cabinet.

I can feel the liquor heating my body and I begin to relax.

"Do you really think she's beautiful and all those other things you said?" I ask.

Quinn nods, "Yes. And so much more Santana."

I think of Brittany and everything I feel when I'm with her. Her eyes are completely captivating, I know that. That special, charming, confident smile she seems to only share with me always makes my heart jump. I love being with her and I love all those special little things that she shares with me.

I miss her so much it hurts and I just wish we hadn't been forced apart in these last few days. I hate the men that hurt her even more now then when I first saw Brittany's bruises. The hardest thing for me to consolidate is not knowing. I don't know if she wants to see me. I don't know if she will come back to the House. I know that she must still be in a lot of pain, maybe still using those drugs.

"Why Brent?" Quinn asks suddenly.

I don't understand. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she takes a small sip of scotch, "Of all the men we see in here, of all the companies that have come through camp why Brent? What about him has you all soft hearted? He's not bad looking but certainly not strong or especially handsome. I've barely heard him speak and though I'll admit the flower incident was charming, I still don't understand how you've come to," she gestures toward my glass, or possibly my whole person. "All of this."

I have to smile when she mentions 'the flower incident'. I'm sure that's the first time I really felt something for her. That expansive feeling began there on that muddy hill, cradling my purple flowers in my skirts and watching Brittany training.

I consider what Quinn's saying. As a man, Brittany is slim and effeminate and apparently distrusted or disliked by almost everyone aside from Evans and Lieutenant Anderson. As a woman, as a person, she's beautiful, charming and she disarms me completely.

"He makes me feel safe," I say quietly, thinking of wishing stars and Brittany's arms wrapped around my waist. "He is strong and getting stronger every day. Or at least he was." That worry returns.

Quinn takes my hand, "I'm sure he'll be fine."

"It's just not fair," I sigh.

"What isn't?"

"I've spent so little time with him and then he's hurt badly enough to take him away from me. At least you got to spend the whole of last week with Rachel."

"Yes, and look how that turned out," she grumbles, emptying her glass and reaching for the bottle again.

I drink the last of my scotch so she can refill my glass at the same time as her own.

"I don't understand why you can't just be with her Quinn."

She gives me the look that suggests I'm pushing my luck.

"No, really Quinn. Explain to me what you're feeling. As much as it _pains_ me to listen to you spewing emotions about the room, I'm willing to listen."

She punches me hard enough to bruise my arm but I don't retaliate. I need her to explain. If I can understand Quinn then maybe I can understand myself.

"I am feeling," she begins. "Like every breath I take, every word I say is somehow changed and made better for my knowing her," she sighs as though frustrated with her words. "I want to be with her and hold her—" she cuts herself off and takes another gulp of scotch.

"What would you do if she felt the same way and you could—" my words—under the influence of the liquor—slur through to a bold place. "If you could touch her."

Quinn finishes her glass—I've lost count of how many—and pours another before even trying to answer.

She looks determinedly at the opposite wall as she speaks. "I want to kiss her breathless."

The memory of Brittany's ragged breath as I lay kiss after kiss across her belly is fresh in my mind.

Quinn continues, "I want to feel her under me, her skin against mine. She makes me feel everything—like my whole body responds to her even when we're barely touching. What would it be like to actually _feel_ her with nothing between us?"

She looks at me as though hoping I might have an answer for her. I swallow dryly and shake my head. I can imagine it. God, I can imagine feeling Brittany beneath me, just like Quinn describes. It sends a thrill through my body that is so much like sex, I can't begin to explain with words.

I'm so glad to be drunk. "I'd say it would be a whole lot like the best sexual experience of your life."

Quinn nods slowly, a serious, far off look in her eye.

The door opens suddenly and slams against the wall; we both jump, Quinn sloshing alcohol across her skirt.

Sugar looks between the two of us, taking in the bottle in Quinn's hand. "What the hell are you two doing in here?"

Quinn looks to me to explain just as I look to her. We both know it makes us look immediately guilty and it's the funniest thing I have ever experienced.

I slam my mouth shut but I can't stop the snort that rips up my throat. It's an absurd sound and Quinn laughs aloud with me. We both fall across each laughing to hard to remain upright.

Sugar looks at us both like we have lost our minds, "Are you two drunk?"

I can barely breath and I certainly can't talk, neither can Quinn so we both just nod through our sniggers. As we're approaching the silent laughter stage of our hysterics Mercedes walks in.

"What's going on in—" she spots us and her expression shifts from confusion to amusement. "Oh great, the dynamic duo have gotten into Shelby's good liquor again haven't they?" She turns to Sugar who nods, pointing out the bottle swinging dangerously in Quinn's hand.

There are tears in my eyes and I can barely breath but I'm starting to regain control of my limbs so I take advantage of this fact long enough to pour myself another glass of scotch. I don't take the bottle, just twist Quinn's hand until the liquor comes out.

I sigh contently as the last of my chuckles subside.

I'm glad to be a happy drunk tonight. I'm glad to have Quinn as a friend. I'm even glad of this newly stirred hunger in my belly. Brittany is mine, I am hers and no matter what happens I will always be glad to have met her.

— s — — b —

Brittany wakes early enough to see the dawn. It's beautiful and Brittany feels something like a warm contentment as she sips her prescribed willow tea and watches the colour grow along the horizon. When the first yellow rays of sunlight reach her, she returns the mug to its place in the mess and goes back to her tent.

Sundays are a rest day so she has nowhere specifically to be. She knows where she wants to be. With Santana.

First though, she needs to take care of the layer of grime that's causing her skin to itch. The trees that lead the way to the bathing pool are still too dark and cold so Brittany takes her time sorting out her soap and uniform.

The Lieutenant arranged for a new service jacket and she has been repairing a tear along a seam in some old slacks so she has a spare, clean pair. She remains in her tent long enough to make sure everything is well presented then walks off into the woods.

The sun and the temperature climb quickly as she approaches her pool with the clean service uniform under her arm. The buttons on her new jacket gleam brightly and Brittany thinks she's going to look quite smart in it.

She doesn't want to delay seeing Santana so she moves quickly in removing her clothes and cleaning her chest bindings. She can't help but pause for a moment beneath the water. The light reflecting off the surface and disrupting the vision of the blue sky above her is so beautiful.

She remembers the last time she swam in this water, she made a resolution to help Santana see the beauty and peace in this place that she lives. That resolution still holds and she wonders if it would be possible to bring Santana here. It would be nice, she thinks but possibly a bit of a waste if Santana can't be in the water with her(if only she could bathe with Santana).

The pool at its surface is nice, but not nearly as wonderful as underneath the water. She returns to the surface and glances around the immediate area, wondering if there might not be somewhere in these woods lovely enough.

She leaves the water long before her fingers can wrinkle and she allows only enough time for her underclothes to be a little less damp when she pulls the rest of her clean clothes on. She's impatient to find a place to take Santana. It feels important. She wants to show Santana that her world can be peaceful and beautiful. She wants to show Santana a place that could be like their secret wishing place.

Brittany knows she's found the perfect spot when she wanders into a small clearing in the woods just beyond her secret bathing pool. This is it. The light streams in through the trees, warms the grass and makes it glow. There are the purple flowers just like the ones she gave Santana all around the edges, half hidden under the dappled shade of the trees.

Mercedes told her that Santana would have today to do what she wants. Brittany will bring her here if Santana allows it. If she agrees. Brittany is sure she will. Knowing that she can see Santana and bring her here fills her with immeasurable happiness. She twirls on the spot, hugging her arms around her chest and barely feeling the pain in her body.

— s — — b —

Shelby makes a point of waking us as loudly as possible, clapping her hands right by mine and Quinn's ears. We'd shared a bed again in our drunken states and though we'd become a little tangled in the night, I felt no inclination to hold her tight. We shared a pillow and lay under the same blankets but even in sleep, our bodies had remained completely separate.

The morning hangover is surprisingly short lived. Both Quinn and I are glad of our choice to drink scotch over anything else. Shelby has already assured us that we will be paying for the bottle and then some. We don't care. I know I feel lighter for our night of confession and commiseration and I think Quinn feels the same. Neither of us are any closer to being free of our feelings but we're both closer to accepting them.

I know I can't do what Quinn has resolved to do though. I can't not see Brittany and I certainly couldn't bring myself to be mean to her, not even to force her away from me. It would hurt too much. To see that light in her eyes dim because of me would just tear me apart. If Brittany wants my friendship as she says she does, then I will be the best friend to her that I possibly can be. I won't let my own feelings become a wedge that drives us apart.

Even with just a few days absence, I miss her. It's been far too long since I've seen her and I feel in every minute as though I'm missing something crucial to me. Sunday has been far too slow to arrive. It's the only day that I really have to do as I please. Clothier may be described by many as a godless place but the truth is, whoring all but ceases on Sundays. Mondays are almost as quiet while men continue to feel the guilt doled out to them the day before. Tuesday through Saturday's trade is what keeps us in business.

I straighten my skirts and flatten my hands against my borrowed blouse. It's a pleasant cream colour that I think Brittany will like and contrasts the dark grey of my walking skirt nicely. My shoulders are bare so my hair—that I spent far longer than usual pinning—tickles against my skin. I even stole scented oils from Sugar's stock to smooth through the curls. It's a silly compulsion, I know but I still want to look my best for my friend, for my Brittany.

"You look great Santana," Mercedes says over the pages of her magazine.

She'd been watching me getting ready without comment for an hour.

I turn to her, "Do you really think so?" I ask, suddenly completely unsure.

She laughs at me for at least the tenth time this morning and nods, "Yes. You're still far too skinny but then so's your boy and there's nothing you can do about it now so stop fussing and go visit him already."

I fix her with a glare that she ignores in favour of her magazine.

I check over the buttons on my boots one more time as I delay. "But what if he's still under the laudanum Mercedes?" I ask again. "You didn't see the damage those so-called men did to him. Did I tell you they cracked a rib?"

"Yes you told me about the rib and about the laudanum and the knuckle shaped bruises on his temple. You also said that Beiste gave him enough of the tincture to last for three days. And it's been three days." Mercedes is obviously losing patience with me.

"But what if he hasn't come to see me because he doesn't want to."

Mercedes smirks in that way she does when she knows gossip that no body else does. I've been ignoring it all morning.

"You know something," I say, suddenly realising that the smirk actually appears whenever I mention Brent.

Mercedes laughs, "Maybe I do."

I groan as I remember that Mercedes went to see the doctor yesterday. "God help you Mercedes if you saw him yesterday and haven't told me." I don't finish my threat.

"Calm down Santana. And sit, I'm sick of looking up at you."

I honest to goodness growl at her as I force myself to sit on the edge of Mercedes' bed without hitting her. I know from experience that she won't tell me anything if I actually cause her any physical harm. Getting rough only ever really works on Quinn.

"Okay Mercedes," I say slowly, "Please tell me what you know."

"Why?"

I gape at her, "Because it's important to me," I bluster unable to believe that she is being so uncooperative.

"How important?" she asks in a needling tone.

"What do you want?"

"Oh nothing major," she says in a sickly sweet way before firming her expression and lowering her tone. "Just your leather boots until the end of the month."

I nod instantly but add, "If you do _any_ damage to them I will end your existence, understand?"

She grins, "Of course. But there's something else."

I nearly scream. "Mercedes, please. Just. Tell me!"

"You have to admit it first."

"Admit what."

"That you really really really like Brent."

I don't know what to say except, "Okay, I really really really like him."

"No, no," she says playfully. "You have to say," She holds one hand over her heart and gestures with the other for me to repeat after her. "I Santana Lopez,"

I sigh and move my hand over my chest. "I Santana Lopez."

"Do absolutely and unequivocally love everything about this skinny white boy. From his sparkling blue eyes to his shining soldier boots."

"His boots aren't exactly shining," I grumble.

"Just say it Santana."

"Fine!" I huff. "I Santana Lopez do absolutely and unequivocally l—love," I stammer over the word. "Everything about this skinny white boy from his sparkling blue eyes to his shining soldier boots."

Mercedes actually claps and this time I can't help but slap the back of my hand against her shin.

"Now tell me what you know."

Mercedes just keeps smiling, "Well, Avery and I went to visit doctor Beiste yesterday."

"I already know this."

"Patience, Kitten. We went to visit Beiste and while Avery was being checked over someone knocked on the door."

I lean forward and so does Mercedes as she takes on her gossiping tone.

"Your soldier was on the other side wearing some fabulous bruises on his face along with an adorably nervous look." Her words com faster as she forgets about teasing me. "He offered to walk me back to the house even though he looked hardly able to stand, poor thing. Of course, I refused and pulled him inside to interrogate him for you."

I snort knowing that she certainly wasn't questioning Brent on _my_ behalf.

She gives me a pointed look. "He didn't say a lot about himself but he was certainly quick to ask about you."

I can't help but smile.

"He wanted to know that you were okay and that we were looking after you. I told him that of course we are and that he shouldn't worry for you."

She doesn't add anything else so I'm compelled to ask. "And that's it? He didn't say anything else? Do you know what the doctor's prognosis is? Did Beiste give him any more tincture?" I fire all of my questions at once.

"No I don't know, the doctor made us leave before he would even talk to your soldier."

I feel the warmth in my chest grow when Mercedes says 'your solder'.

"But you know the quickest way to find out?" she says pointedly.

"Ask Avery?"

She laughs at me _again_, "Go find him."

"Right, of course. Go find him."

My heart flutters as it has done all morning at the prospect of actually seeing her again and actually spending time with her. I don't know how things will change now that I have a more thorough understanding of my feelings. I'm still confused but the one thing I know for sure is that I want to be with her, I want her to hold me and I want to see _that_ smile.

I stand, straightening my skirts and flattening my hands down my blouse one final time. I take a deep breath and step toward the door. Just before I can step outside Mercedes says my name.

"Remember those boots are mine for the rest of the month," she says with a mischievous grin.

I roll my eyes as she goes back to her magazine. There wasn't much for Mercedes to tell me but it's enough. Losing my favourite boots to her for a few weeks is definitely worth knowing that Brittany still cares enough to ask after me.

I leave Mercedes and her quiet chuckling behind me, now eager to leave Corcorans and find Brittany as quickly as I can. I try not to run down the long hallway and I can feel the grin brought to my face knowing that I'll see her soon.

I round the corner and find two soldiers standing in the saloon. Evans is talking to Shelby and the other soldier is facing the window, hands in pockets. All three turn toward the sound of my shoes against the floor.

Brittany's face lights up in the brightest smile I have ever seen and my heart leaps into my throat at the wonderfulness of it. The damaged side of her face is still discoloured but obviously healing. She stands tall and proud, without the hunch that had pulled at her bearing before.

I stop stock-still, watching her. I hadn't expected her to be so close so soon. I feel overwhelmed.

"San," she says quietly, reverently as though she could hurt me by saying my name too loudly.

I've never squealed in my life but I do so unashamedly now as I rush forward to meet her.

I throw my arms around her neck as her arms go easily around my waist. My feet leave the floor as she squeezes me to her. Her arms are so strong but she doesn't hurt me as she holds me precious against her.

"I've missed you," I whisper into her neck as she sets me back onto the ground.

I step back far enough to see her face and gasp at the grimace of pain there. "Oh Sweets, I'm sorry."

I can't believe I hurt her. How could I be so careless.

"I'm fine San, really," she laughs. "I picked you up remember?"

I nod, feeling a heat in my cheeks as I register that her hands are still on my waist. Shelby clears her throat and I take a quick step back as Brittany releases me to do the same.

"I'm glad to hear that Brent," says Shelby, recalling our attention to her.

I look over to see that she's wearing an amused expression. Evans is beside her, looking steadfastly at the floor. He looks supremely uncomfortable and I wonder what they could have been talking about.

"You never gave me an answer about that account the other day," Shelby continues talking to Brittany.

Brittany's blush blooms even more brightly across her cheeks, "No, I didn't and I'd like to apologise for that. Dr Beiste had me retire these last few days to recover."

"I see. So did you come to a decision?"

"I ah," Brittany's hand goes nervously to the back of her neck as her eyes flicker to me. "Um, yes Ms Corcoran. My answer is yes."

Shelby looks between the two of us then nods her head toward Brittany. "Okay, I'll make the arrangements," she says without further explanation."

I give Brittany a quizzical look but she doesn't offer me any explanation. She just offers me her arm.

"If you were headed out Miss Santana then I would very much like to accompany you." She gives me _that_ grin and I feel an overwhelming sense of sweetness in me, right next to my heart. "If you'll have me?" she adds with hope shining in her eyes.

I almost laugh at the notion that I could say no to her.

I manage to hold something like a serious expression as I link my arm with hers, "Thank you so very much," my grin is flirtatious as I look up at her through my lashes. "I would be very glad to have you Sweets"


	13. Liquid Light

AN: Oh shit, the sun is coming up and I'm still writing. I'm meant to be writing assignments but here I am back with another chapter instead. It seems I'm just as addicted to getting this story down as some of you say you are to reading it(hopefully this chapter will make more sense than that sentence).

Notes on last chapter: I had no idea that there was Faberry hostility amongst the Brittana shippers. I'll tell you freely and happily that this isn't going to suddenly shift to a Faberry focus(Brittana is my OTP). Santana needed to realise some stuff and side Faberry is just kinda how that happened. I promise, the only Faberry being discussed explicitly in this story is in aide to the Brittana arc. Maybe just think of those Faberry moments as Quintana and Pezberry friendship rather than Faberry.

In this chapter, I'm finally giving you specifics in terms of date and location(sorta). I'm giving you some past Britt and next chapter will be past Britt _and_ past Santana. This means establishing date and place at the head of a time shift(I kinda dislike 'flashbacks' in italics). I hope the format is clear for everyone. Let me know if it's confuzzling at all.

Small angst warning on this chapter but nothing major(I don't think).

Thank you so much for reading.

* * *

1878 San Francisco, California.

Brittany stands a few feet away from Holly on the dock. She's not sure who put the extra distance between the two of them but she thinks she may have done it herself. She might even have put the distance there a few days ago. The moment Holly revealed that she was leaving San Francisco(leaving her).

Holly told Brittany that she wasn't leaving by choice. She would never leave by choice but she has an opportunity and she has to take it. Brittany doesn't need her any more. Brittany knows that the main reason is money. Even if Father hadn't died, Holly couldn't have stayed. He wasn't paying Holly to be Brittany's friend. Now Holly has an opportunity in New York(the boat ride has even been paid for) and she can't say no. It hurts Brittany to see her go.

It hurts so, so much.

Brittany can feel her resolve slipping and the look in Holly's eyes as she shifts her case from one hand to the other is not helping. A tightness builds in Brittany's chest until she feels her chin give a distinct quiver and the first tear slips down her cheek, burning a path where it falls.

"Oh, Baby-Doll. Please don't cry," Holly says as she steps forward, placing her case on the ground beside them so she can finally wrap Brittany in her arms.

Brittany holds tight to her and rests her head against Holly's shoulder. The tall woman turns them both slowly on the spot. Brittany's sobs only grow in intensity as she thinks about how she will might never feel these arms wrapped around her again.

"B-but I w-won't. W-we won't," she stutters, barely making herself heard. "Will I ever see you again?" she asks in a rush.

"Hey, hey, hey Baby-Doll," Holly shushes her gently. "Don't let this sad thing drag that spirit of yours down."

She holds Brittany at arms length. Her hand comes up to hold Brittany's left cheek. Her thumb swipes over the streak of wet running down her cheek.

"Please, take it from me My Love. Things will be better, and we'll see each other again." Her accent pulls at the vowels and makes Brittany smile through her tears.

"You really believe that Holl?" Brittany asks, willing to believe anything Holly tells her.

"Believe it?" she scoffs. "Darling, I _know_ we'll see each other again. Whether it's in this life or the next."

Brittany feels her smile falter. Holly says things like this all the time and it's usually beyond Brittany's understanding. She knows what Holly is saying this time though. They might not _ever_ see each other again. They could both of them die, never really knowing what ever happened to the other.

Brittany starts to cry again and this time she sees tears gather in Holly's eyes as well.

"Darling please don't cry. You know what we say." Both of her hands hold Brittany's shoulders as she looks at her seriously. "Say it with me Baby-Doll. C'est La vie."

Brittany chuckles through a sob as she wipes her sleeve under her nose. "La Vie," she mimics in their old joke.

Holly takes both of Brittany's hands and gives a squeeze, sinking down to look Brittany square in the eye. "What ever will be, will be. You remember that Darling. This is my path," she says nodding toward the ship. "Your path will become clear soon. I promise."

"But what if I'm not—"

"Not what?"

"What if I'm not strong enough," Brittany exclaims.

Holly tilts her head to one side in a familiar expression of disbelief. "You, Baby-Doll are the strongest person I know."

Brittany tries to shake her head But Holly won't have it.

"No, don't you _ever_ doubt yourself. You have the wit, the heart. You have the _moves _Baby-Doll." She pulls Brittany into her arms again and Brittany falls helplessly against her. "I love you Baby-Doll."

Brittany tries to swallow her tears enough to speak. She croaks out a small, "I love you," in return and Holly gives her one more squeeze before letting go and picking up her case.

She knocks Brittany's arm with her knuckles as she turns saying, "Good things are coming Baby-Doll. Just keep a weather eye open okay."

Brittany nods, not quite able to say anything else as she watches her mentor, mother and best friend walk away from her.

"Holly," she calls before the woman can disappear into the ship. Holly turns with a shaky smile on her lips. Brittany tries to return the smile with her own. "Please, try to write me?" she asks and demands.

Holly's body seems to waver where she stands but she steadies herself against the frame of the door, even as more tears fall.

She nods, "Of course Brittany." She smiles her dazzling Holly Holiday smile. "I thought you'd never ask." The smile quivers at one corner but before it can fall completely she gives one more wave and disappears into the ship.

Brittany starts to bring her own hand up to wave but she knows it's too late and she feels the last remnants of hope crumble in her chest. As the walkway is drawn away and the door slammed shut she knows that she is truly alone. Her sobs shake her as she grasps desperately to the railing dividing her from the water swirling some fifteen feet below.

— s — — b —

1880 Clothier, New Mexico.

Brittany has never been book smart like her brother. She was never street smart like her father. She never felt beautiful like her mother. She never truly felt like she was someone worth while. She never felt special enough to be especially noticed or cared for.

She didn't mind.

She was always content to be the person who worked quietly; as unseen as the shoemaker's elves who put themselves to their work without a worry of recognition or reward.

Brittany had many things taken from her when her father died. She never truly regretted any of her possessions or even the opportunities her old wealth may have afforded her. She missed her father and brother and Holly of course, but there was nothing she could do to bring any of them back into her life. She accepted her losses as easily as one might the loss of a handkerchief.

Brittany never hungered for anything in her life. Whether she had many possessions or none save the clothes on her back, it didn't matter. Brittany was content to simply exist.

Then she met Santana and everything changed.

Brittany doesn't know when exactly the hunger grew. Sometimes it feels as though the hunger consumed her in an instant of flux, sometimes slow like the stars' nightly drift. Ultimately it doesn't matter. The whens or even the hows don't matter; she doesn't need to know. Knowing won't change what she feels. She knows that she can't just exist any more. She wants and needs more than that.

She wants Santana, she wants a better life and when she thinks of her life in years ahead, all she can see is Santana. She can't quite imagine exactly what tomorrow could look like, she doesn't quite know what it could contain but she knows that she wants it. She wants so many things but most important of all, she wants Santana to be happy; she wants to be happy _with_ Santana.

Brittany aches with wanting but it's such an unfamiliar sensation that she doesn't know quite what to do with herself. She takes each step, each breath as a new and foreign experience. Everything has changed. _Everything_ is different. And it's all because of Santana.

Santana who takes her arm, looking at her with the sweetest smile and the deepest brown eyes; Santana looks at her like she _is_ someone worth while. Santana notices her. Santana cares.

As they step out onto the verandah Brittany automatically glances toward the end railing where they wished on the nose of Canis Major. The morning sky is bright, and of course not a single star can be seen. Brittany smiles anyway.

"Where to Miss Santana?" she asks, smiling down at her friend.

Santana looks at her incredulous, "Don't you have a plan?" she asks.

Brittany laughs easily with her heart so light in her chest. "You were leaving the House Santana," she reminds gently.

"Right, of course," she looks down and doesn't elaborate.

"Where were you going?"

"Oh um, I was coming to visit you and makesureyouwereokay," she mumbles to an incoherent stop, still looking down.

Brittany feels the overwhelming urge to tilt Santana's chin up with her hand so she can look her in the eye.

She resists, calling her attention with soft words instead, "Santana?" she calls quietly. "San?" she asks again.

She sees a twitch in Santana's cheek. Even though she can't see Santana's mouth, she knows that there's a grin or at the very least a smirk there.

"Santanaaaaa," she needles playfully. "Please look at me."

Santana finally looks up and Brittany gets to see her sparkling eyes and the tight suppression of a grin.

Brittany laughs again, "I'm afraid I missed what you said Santana." She didn't really. "Where were you going?"

Santana huffs out an annoyed sigh but Brittany can see the unvoiced laugh sparkle in her eye, "I was coming to visit you because," she says slowly and deliberately. "I was worried that you might have done even more damage to yourself in the time I hadn't seen you."

Brittany grins, "That wasn't so hard now was it?"

Santana just slaps her shoulder lightly, "Don't be horrible Sweets. You gave me the fright of my life not coming to see me for days. No note, nothing to say you were okay."

Brittany's smile falters. "Oh I'm sorry," she says, really feeling bad for not contacting her. "I was high as a Georgia Pine for nearly the whole time. I should have thought to send a message though."

Santana looks into Brittany's face as though searching for something. "Did you not—" she swallows nervously. "Didn't you think about me at all after I left?"

Brittany's eyes widened drastically. She can't believe Santana could think that.

"I thought of you almost every second," she blurts. "I mean, like I said there was the tincture so I was asleep a lot." Her cheeks are burning and she's sure her resemblance to a strawberry must be striking.

Santana is grinning at her again like Brittany has given her the greatest gift. "Well, I thought of you too Sweets."

Brittany tries to recover herself as she clears her throat and tries to regain some measure of confidence. "The doctor said I was allowed no further than one hundred feet from my tent. I tested it in every direction."

Santana smiles sweetly. "I'm sorry I couldn't make up the distance Sweets. The House was so busy after Wednesday night and I wasn't sure if you were strong enough," Brittany frowns at the word 'strong' so Santana amends. "I wasn't sure if you were well enough, awake enough with the laudanum to want to see me."

Brittany wants to tell Santana just how keenly she wished to see her—in the Laudanum haze especially—but she doesn't. She reminds herself that a _friend_ shouldn't make Santana feel guilty. She wants to make Santana feel safe, loved and protected. Not like she owes Brittany something for not coming to see her.

She clears her throat again in an attempt to restore her self confident posture. "So, Miss Santana," she starts gesturing toward the street they hesitate over. "Where to? If you had no destination except to see me." Santana's cheeks darken and Brittany's stomach flips. "You can decide where to go. I don't know where anything is anyway," she says with a shrug. "Maybe you could give me a tour."

"A tour?" she asks incredulously.

Brittany nods, "Ahuh, take me on a journey, an expedition. I would like to see what your Clothier has to offer a woman of the world."

She grins to show she's jesting. Santana mimics the grin and nods down to the right.

"Very well Private Pierce," she begins in a mock formal voice. "If you would like to follow me I should like to meet with a friend of mine. Introduce you."

Brittany feels a thrill at the chance to meet someone Santana calls a friend. If it's a chance to learn more about Santana then all the better.

They wander along the thorough fair talking about nothing topics like the weather and their respective mornings. Conversation flows easily and any silence is comfortable. Brittany feels a dance in her step that she's certain hasn't been there in years. Whenever Santana looks at her, she feels like every wish she's ever made on a star has come true at once.

Brittany tries to be alert to all the landmarks that Santana points out but all she really sees is Santana. Santana's nose crinkles a little when she points out the butcher on one side and her eyes narrow when she points out another brothel on the other side.

"That's the Saphire Crown," she says with disdain. "It's run by a man calling himself Baldoon. He treats his girls like dirt and lets the Tricks do the same. I'm lucky Shelby took me in and not that monster."

Brittany finally looks from Santana's face to the building in question. Compared to Corcorans with its long verandahs, bright, shining windows and lively colours this place looks like the worst kind of hovel. The small windows are dark and caked in grime and the stairs look half way to collapse. The man who must be Baldoon stands outside, his arm wrapped possessively around a young girl with blonde hair and blue eyes. Her skirts and bodice are dirtied. Even her face appears unclean and there's a shining bruise on her cheek.

The man spots Brittany and after surveying the clean, blue uniform gives her a glare, making it clear that she's not welcome. His eyes skirt over Santana and Brittany's posture immediately becomes defensive as she tries to hide as much of Santana from his view as possible.

Santana senses the change and holds to Brittany's arm more firmly. Brittany continues to glare at the man who's eyes fail to leave Santana's body. She thinks of the rifle stowed safely under her cot and then to the bayonet still attached to the belt at her hip.

"Sweets, don't it's okay," Santana whispers urgently like she can hear where Brittany's thoughts have gone. "He's filth. The kind that Shelby has already taken care of. They have an arrangement."

Brittany looks back to Santana who is staring steadfastly down the street. She isn't paying any attention to the Sapphire Crown and Brittany feels some of her tension release.

"What kind of agreement?" she asks.

Santana shrugs, "A financial one probably."

Brittany doesn't say anything.

Santana's steps quicken and Brittany sees a small smile appear as she points down the street to where a bend in the road obscures the rest from view.

"We're almost there" she says happily.

Brittany tries to see precisely where she's pointing but can't. Corcorans is positioned alongside typical business houses where the butcher, the baker, and hardware store owner sell their wares. On weekdays there are lots of people about but the energy is always fairly relaxed as people move about their day. The part of Clothier that they're approaching is a hectic hive of activity. These people obviously don't take Sundays off.

As they round the corner more of the place comes into view. People rush about with purpose, many weighed down with crates or cloth bags. Most of the buildings are two stories although Brittany is half convinced that's only to support the lines of sheets and cloth that crisscross between every window and eave. There's a haze of smoke, steam and heat that drifts above the whole scene, the morning light casting a golden glow.

Brittany glances down to Santana who wears a happy grin. She feels her chest tighten seeing Santana looking so happy and pretty in the soft light. She looks up at Brittany and seems surprised to find her watching her instead of the street ahead of them.

"You're not supposed to be looking at me Sweets," she informs Brittany playfully.

Brittany doesn't try to hide her smile as she looks over Santana's face. The dimple in her cheek put there by her genuine smile, the long dark lashes that dip and flutter, the curve of her crimson lips consume Brittany's attention. The two have come to a stop at one side of the street in front of a saddle repair shop. Their arms are still linked, Brittany's left to Santana's right but they're turned toward one another and Santana's left hand has drifted to rest on top of Brittany's arm.

Brittany feels like a magnet, drawn inevitably to her other half. The pull to Santana is strongest in her chest, fluttering about her heart.

Brittany feels her body lean toward Santana's. The movement is nothing, an infinitesimal waver forward but it feels like the world has shifted. Santana's breath seems to catch as Brittany leans forward and she finally stops herself. Brittany immediately reforms the gap between their bodies, horrified with her own lack of control. She would have kissed Santana if not for that small gasp.

Santana's eyes are wide, her pupils blown and Brittany feels a spark of panic. She's gotten too close, too quickly. She's let Santana's easy familiarity draw her into crossing those personal boundaries she had been so comfortable with maintaining before.

She steps away and Santana's hand slips from her arm. She instantly misses the warmth but makes no move to reclaim it, letting the arm that's hooked to Santana's drop as well. Santana's face falls and Brittany hates that she's the cause. She just can't be that close to Santana. It's too hard.

She tries to recover what she can, taking Santana's hand instead. If anything it's even more familiar than their linked arms. She could only imagine what her father would say if she, as a girl had taken a man's hand in such a way. It isn't important now though as Santana's warm hand rests in her own and the smile returns to Santana's eyes.

Brittany focuses on bringing up her own confident smile and she sees Santana's eyes soften when she does.

"Weren't we looking for someone?" she reminds Santana gently.

Santana looks back into the bustle of laundries, blacksmiths and tanners.

"You're right," she says tugging at Brittany's hand.

She giggles as she leads and Brittany follows. They pass through the cacophonous space and Brittany looks left and right, trying to absorb as much of her surroundings as possible. Her eyes keep returning to Santana though. She looks so pleased and comfortable to be here. It's like Santana finds her home here and Brittany feels an odd pang of jealousy for this place Santana clearly loves so much. The sparkle in Santana's eyes as she turns to draw Brittany further into her world makes that feeling disappear, quickly replaced by a kind of reflected happiness.

Santana pulls them into a darkened doorway when two Chinamen appear carrying a large crate between them and block their path. Brittany glances at the faces around her and she registers that she is the only white man in sight. It reminds her a little of Chinatown when she would make deliveries in San Francisco. Just like in Chinatown back home she feels very tall. Looking around now though she does see a few more colours and shades in skin than Chinatown. There are mostly chinamen but there's also Jews and Blacks too. There are several men matching Santana's complexion as well. They're shifting barrels around just a few yards down the way and paying them no mind at all. In fact no one is paying any attention to them.

Brittany grins and gives Santana's hand a squeeze when the girl looks up at her with a worried eye. "This is fantastic," she exclaims close to Santana's ear so she won't be overheard. "In the most wonderful way."

Santana looks elated when Brittany pulls back and she's glad she could give the right answer.

The Chinamen finally get their cargo away and Santana instantly steps forward with Brittany following close behind. "It can't be much farther," she says.

Brittany glances back the way they came but can't see much beyond the doorway they just left. The steam and bustle of people block her view. She turns back to be sure to keep her feet as Santana practically skips her way through the crowd. Brittany has to remember her soldier's bearing as she moves quickly after Santana who ducks and squeezes between people and boxes dragging Brittany behind her.

She keeps staring about her and a shop with line drawings displayed on a board catches her attention. She cranes her neck to see it better. There's a man sitting in a chair with his shirt off and another man guiding a needle and a pod of ink over his skin. The man in the chair is covered in drawings like the one on the board. Brittany is fascinated but she doesn't get the chance to look any more as Santana drags her away.

"I think that man was getting a drawing put in his skin," she says to Santana's back.

Santana turns to look over Brittany's shoulder and she smiles at the obvious curiosity in her face. "It's a tattoo," she explains. "We can go have a look on the way back through," she promises.

Brittany grins but Santana doesn't see it as she turn back the way their traveling.

"Santana?" a male voice calls from a short way ahead of them

Santana stops, almost causing Brittany to run into the back of her.

She waves and diverts their course more to the left. "Michael, there you are." she says as they draw nearer to a tall chinaman dressed in a fine suit. "I'd heard your shop had moved but I didn't know where to."

Brittany wonders if this must be the friend she's here to meet. She wasn't sure what she was expecting but this man certainly is not it. He's taller than her but just as slim and the long lines of his crisp suit make him look all the skinnier. He seems just as out of place as Brittany herself must look amongst all the grubby, sweating men around them.

He bows to Santana, "You managed to find me all the same," he says genially with only a trace of an accent.

Santana keeps a hold of Brittany's hand as she introduces them, "Mike, this is Private Brent Pierce. Sweets, this is my friend Michael Chang."

Brittany feels another pang of jealousy as Santana introduces Michael as her friend. His eyes drop to their joined hands but he doesn't say anything about it. Brittany pushes down her pointless jealousy as Michael extends his hand.

Michael's grasp is just as firm and sure as the gaze that he observes Brittany with. She finds that she trusts and likes him already. His eyes are kind and with the calculating way that he is measuring her up she feels sure that he is protective of Santana. His eyes hold over the bruises on her cheek for a moment longer before he releases her hand.

"Pleased to meet you Pierce." He says before turning to Santana, "Are you hungry?" he asks with a knowing smile.

Santana nods and laughs, "You know me too well, Chang."

Brittany glances into the shop behind Michael and realises that it's a type of restaurant with chairs and tables arranged in front of a small, billowing kitchen. There isn't a lot of room but she can see a spare table and two chairs near the front. Brittany breaths in deeply and aromas familiar to Chinatown reach her senses. She's never eaten anything from a place like this but she's curious. She's also hungry, she realises as her stomach grumbles.

She looks back the way they came. It's impossible to tell how far they travelled but Brittany has a feeling that it was only a short distance; they spent so long dodging through the crowd with Brittany staring around wide eyed. They may only have moved a few hundred yards but Brittany feels like they've travelled half way around the world.

Santana must have heard Brittany's stomach grumble and she grins as Michael leads them into the restaurant. "You'll love it Sweets," she says, a confidence in her voice that Brittany likes hearing.

Santana releases her hand as they take a seat at a small, rickety table and Brittany immediately regrets the loss.

"So how do you like Hunna so far Pierce?" Michael asks as he pulls out a small board and a piece of chalk from a pocket in his coat.

"Hunna?" she asks, wondering if it might be some kind of nickname.

Before she can start trying to piece 'hunna' in to Santana's name she explains. "This is Hunna District" she says, nodding outside.

"I didn't know Clothier was big enough to have different districts."

"It's not really," Santana explains. "But you may have noticed something of a line between out there and in here?"

Brittany nods. The shift in atmosphere is certainly marked.

"Well it's a bit difficult for a mother to tell her child not to go somewhere if the place has no name," she smirks.

Brittany understands. San Francisco has those neighbourhoods too.

"What does Hunna mean?" she asks.

Michael explains, "Saint Hunna is the patron saint of laundry workers. It was meant to belittle us but we actually quite like it."

Brittany thinks it suits as well. Her stomach doesn't really care and makes it's preferences known.

Michael smiles. "So what should I bring you?" he asks.

Brittany turns to Santana who answers, "My usual and a bit of everything else I think. Just no bit of the chicken that made contact with the ground okay." Michael nods making notes on the small board in his hand. He starts to turn away and Santana adds hurriedly, "No crickets either Chang."

"Crickets?" Brittany asks, curious.

Santana nods with a grimace, "They eat some weird stuff but the good food is great."

— s — — b —

I try not to laugh as I watch Brittany smiling nervously, looking around Mike's shop with interest.

"So you come her a lot?" she asks, finally returning her gaze to me.

I feel my body react to her in the same way it has done every time I feel her look at me. My heart leaps into my throat and when her mouth shifts into _that_ grin, I'm glad to be already sitting down.

When will I stop reacting to her smile like that?

I clear my throat to check my voice is a normal pitch before answering. "Not so much but I've known Mike a long time, pretty much since I moved to Clothier."

I hold my breath wondering if Brittany will finally ask me how I came to be at Corcorans.

I'm relieved when she just asks more about the food.

I tell her what I know of the food which progresses to talking about the Hunna District and the different kinds of businesses. Brittany seems fascinated by every detail even though she says there are similar districts in San Francisco. It feels as though she just likes listening to me talk.

She's especially interested by the tattoo man we had passed.

"So they force the needle into the skin, like a scratch?" she asks.

I shake my head, "Well, sort of. They have to force the ink in under the skin so that it sets there and the skin heals around it. I think it's more like the prick of an injection needle."

Brittany nods in understanding. "Do you have any?" she asks and then blushes at the personal nature of the question. I'm confident it slipped out without her meaning to.

"No, definitely not." I say easily. "I'm not nearly brave enough for that."

"I think you are." Brittany says seriously.

The ernest look in her eye making a heat bloom in my cheeks.

Thankfully Mike appears with several plates and bowls of food arranged along his arms. I honestly have no idea how he carries so much at once and when he places a teapot and two small cups among the plates, I'm desperate to know where he even pulled them from.

He disappears before I can ask and I look across the bowls and plates to discover why. Unsurprisingly there is one small plate with three morsels arranged neatly so that they still resemble exactly what they are: crickets.

"Dammit Chang," I grumble, worried that Brittany will be immediately turned off her lunch.

Brittany isn't looking at the crickets though, rather she is eyeing the teapot with a sad smile.

I pick up the tea and pour a measure into each cup. "Have you had Chinese tea before?" I ask. "It's much better than that horrible black stuff the english bring with them."

Brittany nods, "Yes actually, Holly liked to drink it."

I feel immediate jealousy seeing the small smile Brittany wears as she picks up her cup.

"So what should I have first?" she asks after a delicate sip of her tea.

She relaxes into her chair and I think she looks wonderful with her guard down and her smile resting easy on her face. I quickly explain what each dish is to distract myself.

"I can't really remember or say most of the real names," I explain. "But you get the idea."

Brittany nods and then points out the one plate that I had refused to acknowledge. "And the crickets?" she asks with a laugh as I grimace.

"Mike's idea of a joke. He insists it's a delicacy but I think he just enjoys watching me gag on strange food."

I jump when Mike is suddenly standing by my shoulder. "It is a delicacy. Mexican's eat it too you know" he says.

"Lucky I'm not Mexican," I retort automatically. We've had this conversation before.

"And I wouldn't want Pierce to miss out," he says finally.

Brittany's eyes flit between me, Mike and the insects. "I'll eat one if you do," she says finally, turning back to Mike.

"Done," Mike says far too quickly. "Santana, your friend is a brave one."

I laugh but I can't help looking at Brittany seriously as I say, "Yes, she is very brave."

Brittany coughs into her fist but can't hide the colour in her cheeks as she picks up one of the sticks skewering the body of a dark shelled creature.

"You don't have to do this Sweets," I say, trying to keep her from this undoubtedly awful experience.

"It's okay," she says. "I want to." She looks at Mike. "On three?" she asks.

Mike grins and picks up his own spindly insect. "On three," he agrees.

"One," they begin to count.

"Two," makes me cover my mouth in horror.

On "Three," I cover my eyes so I don't have to see it.

The crunch is enough to turn my stomach but I open my eyes when a cheer goes up around us. I see Brittany grinning as she chews threw her cricket. Everyone in the near vicinity—including the kitchen—stopped what they were doing to watch Brittany eat the bug.

"So what do you think Pierce?"

"Crunchy," Brittany says with a grin showing her clean teeth.

I'm still horrified that she actually ate it but as she looks over the rest of the table, looking for the next interesting thing to eat I have to accept that she did.

I swallow a few mouthfuls of scalding hot tea to wash away the imagined cricket remnants from my mouth as Brittany sips her own tea with a happy smile.

I shake my head at her happy expression. "Try some dim sum," I suggest, pushing a much more appetising dumpling toward her.

— s — — b —

The cricket really wasn't that bad and the adorable expression on Santana's face completely made it worth eating an insect.

An additional happy effect was Brittany immediately winning over Mike and every other man that saw her do it. Mike claps her on the shoulder with a grin and immediately rushes off to get her something called rice wine.

He pours one for all three of them and clinks his glass against Brittany's with a "Gan bei" that Brittany repeats despite having no idea what it means.

The liquor is awful but it goes straight to her head and makes the rest of their meal go by with a lot of laughs and a few stories from the tall man who is now her friend as well as Santana's.

They leave after their long lunch, both with happy smiles on their faces and Santana takes her arm for the first time since entering Hunna. She smiles so sweetly up at her that Brittany thinks she might just float away on her fluttering heart.

"Where to next Sweets?" she asks, looking left and right along the rows of buildings still busy with people.

Brittany looks up at the sky to see that the sun has shifted beyond the buildings around them. She swallows nervously before looking back down at Santana with her confident smile.

"I er, have somewhere that I'd very much like to take you if that's okay."

Santana nods eagerly, "Of course."

"It's a little ways past the Company camp," she explains. "What's the quickest way out of here?" she asks, knowing that the light has to be perfect for this to work and she's running out of time.

Santana glances around, as though searching for the best way. "Here, this way," she says with a smirk, taking Brittany's hand again as she ducks into a narrow alleyway opposite where they'd stood. "We'll have to be invisible Sweets," she says in a playful way that Brittany loves.

The list is still in her breast pocket and she mentally notes this playful mood as number thirty six.

Brittany follows happily as Santana guides them through sneaky back ways and through narrow doorways. A few people yell at them but they both revel in their game as they sneak from alley to alley. Brittany feels like a bandit, ducking from the law with her best friend leading the way.

Santana leads them into another long, narrow alley and Brittany thinks of asking if she really knows where they're going. Before she gets a chance Santana pulls her around one last corner and into the sunlight. They're on the edge of a big grass field much like the one the Company is camped on.

"We made it Sweets," Santana says through her giggles.

Santana rocks up onto her toes as if to hug Brittany, her face coming in line with Brittany's. Brittany grins and Santana's eyes flutter down to the smile for a moment but then she disappears altogether as she drops back down flat on her feet.

Her eyes drop to the ground before she looks back up again. "I'll race you," she says, the grin returning to her face.

She releases Brittany's hand and before Brittany can even try to get it back she darts away into the grass. Her hair flows behind her as she runs and Brittany is completely entranced by it, unable to move as she watches the graceful movement of Santana's delicate frame.

She swallows a lump in her throat when Santana calls out to her, "Come one Sweets, didn't you have somewhere to be?"

Brittany finally catches up to the fact that her feet are stuck to the dirt and Santana is getting further and further away from her.

"Hey wait up!" she calls, running after her.

— s — — b —

I let Brittany catch up to me quickly. I'd forgotten her cracked rib as we snuck through the alleys and back rooms of Hunna. Having Brittany's hand in mine the whole way made me feel a reckless abandonment that I haven't felt since I was a little girl. It's liberating but also makes me careless.

When Brittany catches up to me she looks well enough and her breathing is still even despite the run. She offers me her arm and I take it, leading her along the treeline around the edge of town until we can see her camp.

Brittany recognises it and quickly looks around to regain her bearings. She glances at the sky again and I wonder what she's waiting for.

"The light has to be right," she explains without my voicing the question.

I still don't understand but I trust her all the same. I figure we're going into her camp but my assumption is proven wrong when she guides us into the trees.

"I just want to show you something," she says as we pick our way through the undergrowth.

I'm glad I wore my walking skirt as I'm still getting snagged up in every other bush or bramble, even with the shorter length. Brittany patiently helps me from every snag, taking care so I won't have even a single hole to repair.

"Sorry San," she apologises from her knees as she helps me untangle my skirts again. "The way I usually come by isn't as thick on the ground as this."

"It's okay Sweets," I tell her, my hand keeping my balance against her shoulder.

I really am glad to follow Brittany anywhere but I'm also glad when the ground around the trees becomes grassed and easier to move over.

Brittany taps the occasional tree as we walk and I realise that she is tapping over marks in the wood. I wonder if she made the trail herself.

After a few more minutes of walking I think I can hear water. It gets louder until I am quite sure that the creek must be near by. I wonder if that is our destination. I'm sure it will be lovely even if I'm not that enthusiastic about water or trees.

We're almost on top of the pool before I see it. The creek fills out into a wide, deep pool and golden light streams in through the canopy to glitter off the water's surface.

I turn to Brittany to see her watching me. The light from the water is shimmering across her face, giving her flawless skin an ethereal quality which takes my breath away.

"So beautiful," I murmur, unable to help the words slipping past my lips.

I feel a furious blush instantly heat my cheeks but Brittany doesn't notice as she turns back to the pool and nods.

"It really is," she says in a reply. She thinks I meant the pool. "But this isn't what I wanted to show you."

She squeezes my hand and directs me to stay by the edge. "I'll be back real soon San," and she scampers quickly around the edge of the pool to disappear into the trees on the other side.

I sigh as she leaves, shaking my head at my impossible tongue. The number of times my runaway mouth had gotten me into trouble are innumerable. But I can't let myself ruin this friendship with Brittany. I can't.

I gather my skirts and kneel down at the edge of the pool, dipping in my fingertips to test the temperature. It's warm and my mind immediately conjures up the image of Brittany swimming in this water. Before my imagination can put myself in there with her the real Brittany reappears on the other side of the water.

She picks her way back to my side and takes my hand to pull me back upright. I'm oddly stuck in my position at the edge and require Brittany's guiding hands to draw me away.

"Come on San. The light is perfect. I know you're going to like this," she promises.

She holds me close to her so as to keep me from a misstep while we move around the edge of the pool. I enjoy the way she presses me close to her.

We wind through the trees for a few more minutes with Brittany never letting go of my hand. She keeps smiling down at me as if making sure that I'm definitely still there with her. I am not going anywhere else.

The dry leaves littering the ground form a patchwork carpet under our feet and the canopy is thick overhead. The light is bright ahead though so I can only assume that Brittany must be bringing us to a clearing of some kind.

"Not much further San," she assures.

Only a few steps later I find myself on the edge of the most beautiful place I have ever seen. The light seems to pool within the space between the trees; I feel as though we are standing against a pool of liquid sunlight. I've never seen anything like it and I actually reach out, curious to see if I could feel the air condense around me. The light spills and plays between my fingers in delicate ribbons but remains light as air.

I laugh. The sound spills from my lips and into the playful light, adding to the already incandescent joy I feel.

I take a deep breath and plunge into the pool of light. I half expect to feel delicate fingers of liquid encasing my body and caressing my skin. Instead there is just the light. The light shines through and around my hair before reflecting back into the atmosphere.

I look at Brittany and almost lose my breath. I wouldn't be surprised to find that I had drowned in the light after all since Brittany is clearly my angel. Even dressed as she is in her dark uniform with her hair covered by a soldiers cap she is beautiful. Her blue eyes dazzling against fair skin.

— s — — b —

In a place that is largely dirt and rocks, and spiny plants surrounded by thick, scrubby woods this clearing is as much of an oasis as the pool they just left behind. The clearing is maybe thirty yards across in an irregular circle. The ground isn't flat but that's all for the better; long, soft grasses sweep across some stretches while areas of short grass create gentle plains in others.

Brittany watches Santana's face. She needs this to be right. She needs Santana to be happy here; she wants to give this to her. She wants this place to be theirs. She rushed ahead to make sure the light was just right and she knows it's perfect.

Santana looks at her and seems to lose her breath for a moment. "Brittany," she gasps, seemingly unable to say any more.

"Do you like it?" Brittany asks, needing to know for sure.

"I love it," she says without hesitation.

Brittany lets out a light huff in relief, "Good, because I wanted to show you something and—"

"Oh and it's so wonderful Sweets," Santana interrupts. "How did you even find this place?"

Brittany chuckles, feeling incredibly light and content. "I bathe in that pool back there because I can't with the men."

Santana glances in the direction of the pool then blinks. She blinks again then swallows as though entirely consumed by other thoughts. Brittany follows her gaze, worried for a moment that someone might have followed them. There's nothing there except for trees and she turns back to Santana and clears her throat nervously.

Santana's eyes clear. "Oh," she says simply.

Brittany coughs into her fist before continuing, "Yeah, except this isn't what I wanted to show you. This is just the set dressing," she says gesturing to their clearing.

She releases her hold on Santana and leans forward, stretching the muscles in her arms and legs.

"Dressing for what?"

"I wanted—I want to show you. I'm going to dance," she finally gets out, trying to inject a confidence she doesn't feel into her words.

She continues to stretch, willing her muscles to do as she instructs.

"But there's no music," Santana says slowly, obviously wanting to understand.

Brittany has thought of this. "I was hoping you would sing for me?" She can't bring herself to wear the confident smile when she makes this request.

She wants Santana to want this.

Santana hesitates for a long moment, clearly torn until, "Okay, what would you like me to sing?"

Brittany's heart leaps even as a flock of butterflies take residence in her stomach.

"Anything, anything at all. Just um," she says hesitantly. "Be nice, okay. I haven't danced in a long time.

Santana nods, her expression ernest.

Brittany takes Santana's hand and leads her to the edge of a clear plain of short grass.

"Here will do, just you take a seat here," she guides Santana to sit on the ground at the edge where the ground slopes upward slightly. Brittany supports Santana's decent as she arranges her skirts around her crossed legs.

Brittany steps away then bends to unlace her boots. She kicks them away as she starts to unbutton her jacket and then shirt.

"What are you doing?" Santana asks, a hint of alarm in her voice.

"I can't dance in my uniform," Brittany explains. "Don't worry, I'm not going to be naked or anything."

Santana's eyes widen and her laugh is nervous, "Okay well that's—good."

Brittany gets to the last buttons then untucks her shirt so she can let it and her coat slip from her shoulder. She places those along with her boots and socks to one side, out of the way of her grassy dance floor. She shifts back to stand directly in front of Santana, kicking her feet as she goes to test the movement of her slacks. She's never danced in pants before so it should make things interesting. The fabric lacks the elasticity she's used to.

She takes up third position with her right foot forward. There's a severe ache in her ribcage but she knows the pain is bearable.

"Maybe clap out a beat to start," Brittany suggests to Santana when she doesn't start singing straight away.

Santana sits staring at her, eyes running over Brittany's form from crown to heel. Brittany tries not to feel self conscious.

Santana's eyes narrow curiously, "Take off your hat," she blurts suddenly.

Her voice lifts slightly at the end but it isn't really a question. Brittany follows the instruction, flinging her cap toward the rest of her clothes.

"And your hair?" she asks, a hesitant kind of hope in her voice this time.

Brittany isn't sure. She feels vulnerable out in the open. Santana looks at her with so much warmth though. Brittany can't say no to her.

"Okay," she nods.

Santana's hands seem to fiddle nervously at the gathered skirts in her lap. Brittany doesn't know what to make of it. What does Santana have to be nervous about? Brittany is the one about to perform an impromptu concert in the wilderness. She pulls the end of her braid over her shoulder and releases the tie there. She has to loosen the waves of blonde with her fingers as they try to remain in their well worn weave but she shakes out her hair until it falls about her shoulders. Santana just keeps watching.

— s — — b —

"Santana?" Brittany asks, as if questioning my sanity.

I am questioning my sanity. How could I have agreed to sing? I can barely breath looking at Brittany like this. The fine curves of her body are even more incredible under this light, with just the white undershirt hugging to her body. For the first time since that first morning I woke up with her I can really see and appreciate her body. The subtle curve of her hips, her long delicate arms held out from her body. She's rolled her sleeves up so her biceps are bare and defined. She is so beautiful.

I shouldn't have asked her to take out her hair. The way the light shines through it and around her face, casting delicate shadows and highlights while revealing her every perfect feature is too much for me to bear.

She says my name again and I have to blink several more times and dig my nails into my palms to regain focus. I need to think of a song.

A verse comes to mind as I watch Brittany watching me and I hum the melody until I'm sure I remember the words.

Brittany's head nods along to the rhythm inherent in the melody and I start to tap the accompanying beat against my leg.

The first verse will always remind me of Brittany.

_In the sky the bright stars glittered  
On the bank the pale moon shone  
It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting party  
I was seeing Nellie home_

I almost lose my place as Brittany begins to move. Her arms shift first. Her right hand sliding up and her palm drifting over her ear so she appears to twist the arm at an impossible angle. Her body follows immediately after so she appear fluid, not a single movement disconnected from the last.

She slides one leg straight out from her body, her feet pointed outwards. She winks at me before twisting into an elegant leap and I'm forced to remember the chorus of my song.

_I was seeing Nellie  
I was seeing Nellie home  
It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting party  
I was seeing Nellie home_

I somehow keep the beat, tapping it out against my knee as I watch Brittany. She twirls upon her toes with her arms held in those ever fluid lines. She defies gravity, spinning over and again without losing balance; it's as if the light really is like water and Brittany has learned the secrets of moving though it.

_On my arm a soft hand rested  
Rested light as ocean foam  
It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting party  
I was seeing Nellie home_

She dips to her right knee, her left leg extended at an impossible angle behind her. Her arms balancing the angles so she holds the perfect, dynamic shape in her limbs. She holds the pose for barely a moment before she's leaping back up into a fluid twirl. As she dances, her movements gain strength along with a certain rigidity. Her shoulders square off in a posture I associate with Brent more than Brittany. I glimpse her face through a turn and I see a frustration in her eyes. She is dissatisfied somehow with her movements.

_On my lips a whisper trembled  
Trembled till it dared to come_

The words to the song keep tumbling from my lips, though I hardly hear them myself. I'm so consumed by Brittany.

Her hair flows with her every movement; even as her leaps and turns become more aggressive, her hair continues to flow in defiance of the rigidity possessing her body. It flows around her beautiful face as she runs to the edge of the short grass and turns. Her arms are held unyielding by her sides, her hands balled into fists. There's a fire in her eyes as she looks at me. The tangle of blonde hair frames her face and makes her appear wild. I feel her gaze burn, stirring a heat deep inside of me. She continues to stare into me as I sing the last verse.

_On my life new hopes were dawning_  
_And those hopes have lived and grown _  
_It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting party _  
_I was seeing Nellie home_

The fire shifts in her eye and she lifts her chin; the proud look in her eye doesn't spread to the smile I long to see. Her hands finally release from their tight fists but then flatten again, the muscles in her arms tense. I continue to tap out the rhythm even though I've sung the last verse.

In an incredible show of strength she leaps high from the ground spinning in an elegant arc with her arms outstretched. She seems to hang, suspended in the light for long moments before her feet finally regain contact with the ground only to leap into another outstretched spin. Again and again she leaps, every time spinning closer to me. I hold my breath to the last one as my hands still, no longer able to keep a rhythm beyond the thundering of my heart.

Her feet finally land together but she instantly sinks down to her right knee again; this time she deliberately tangles herself in a dramatic pose of submission. Her shoulders are bowed and her arms extend straight down so her fists press firmly against the ground. I can't see her face because she's tilted her head down, exposing the back of her neck; blonde waves spill over her shoulders and screen her from my view.

When a sob shakes her shoulders and the gasp of it reaches my ears, my heart nearly stops. I jump instantly from my place on the ground, nearly tripping over my skirts in my haste to reach her.

I drop to my knees in front of her, my hands fluttering uselessly across her shoulders and down her arms without touching her. I don't know what to do. I want to hold her, to comfort her but I don't know if that's what she wants.

I finally settle my hand on her tensed right arm and I'm startled to feel just how hard the muscles beneath her skin are. She twitches away from my touch and I withdraw my hand as if burned. Another half smothered sob shakes Brittany's shoulders. I refuse to let her shake me off again and use both my hands to tug her right hand from the ground.

Her hand remains balled in a fist but her body collapses finally with her legs tangled beneath her. She still won't look at me, the curtain of her hair hiding her from view.

— s — — b —

"Brittany?" Santana asks. There's a timidity in her voice that hurts Brittany to hear.

She's frightened Santana. She knows she has. She wanted to show how she dances because Santana said she wanted to see it. But something happened as she danced. The natural fluidity that had been a part of her movements for so many years suddenly felt unnatural. The elegant lines of her female body felt inconsistent with the life she lives now.

She remembered the boy she used to partner with in her old life. She thought of the boy that she has been pretending to be; the way he moves and holds himself. She thought of her old dance partner and the way he moved, the way their instructor would pose his body around hers. _Those_ movements felt more appropriate. She changed her shape throughout her dance for Santana, shifting more towards the masculine form with every step. It felt right. Even the stabbing pain in her ribs, the continued ache in her abdomen seemed to suit the new form.

With every step she moved further from the girl she once had been and became more the man she pretends to be.

It broke her heart.

Those final turns, drawing her back to Santana brought her back to herself. The duality of her male and female self splintered and cracked. She'd swear she could hear it. Her final repose was a submission to it.

The tears that came were a surprise. They appeared spontaneously and without warning. Santana's hands on her arms are comforting and hurt her at the same time. Her body collapses. The pain in her ribs radiates out with her every breath.

"Brittany?" Santana calls her to look up so she does. "Brittany please tell me what's wrong."

"Who am I San?" she asks, truly needing to know.

Santana's eyes narrow.

"I'm not Brent, but I'm not Brittany any more am I?"

Understanding fills Santana's eyes and Brittany hopes it's real. She hope she understands. Santana usually understands.

"You don't feel like yourself?" She concludes.

Brittany shakes her head.

"I know who you are," she says confidently. "You are Brittany Pierce, amazing dancer and a beautiful woman." Brittany feels her heart stir when Santana calls her beautiful but can't quite bring herself to really believe.

Santana has more to say yet, "But you are more than that. You are also Private Brent Pierce. Loyal friend, an incredible dancer and so much more."

"You can't be two people at once Santana." Brittany says, feeling utterly exasperated with her own feelings.

"But you do it every day," Santana says.

She takes Brittany's hand into her lap. Brittany allows her fingers to be pulled from the tight fist they're curled in. Santana's fingertips run over the lines in her palm and Brittany softens to the touch.

Santana ducks down to look Brittany in the eye. "Explain to me what your feeling Sweets and I'll help you."

Brittany laughs, "That simple huh?"

"Yup," Santana smiles with her.

Brittany tries to collect her thoughts into a useful order. "It's like my body isn't mine anymore," she begins. "Or maybe my mind doesn't belong to this body any more. This face is mine but not. Brent is one person, Brittany is another and I don't feel like either."

Santana waits patiently for Brittany to say more but she has nothing else to add. Brittany has no other words to express what happened while she danced. She just has to hope that Santana saw in her body what she can't express with words.

"I think I understand," she says nodding confidently. "And I can help," she says with a smile.

Brittany swipes the damp from her cheeks and realises that the tears have stopped. She laughs quietly, "You've already made me feel better."

Santana smiles more brightly at that and Brittany is glad to see it reach her eyes.

"Now you want to talk about all these different people inside you," Santana says with a smirk and Brittany nods. "I never met the old Brittany," she says. Brittany frowns so Santana hurries on, "But I really like this Brittany. She's mature and smart and strong, an amazing friend and so, so brave."

"But am I still a girl after all of this?" Brittany asks, gesturing down to her slacks. "I can't even dance like a girl."

"Well you can still pout like a girl," Santana jokes lightly.

Brittany nudges at her shoulder in mock offence, her pout melting into a smile.

"Come on," Santana says, suddenly standing. "Get up, I want to try something."

Brittany does as she's instructed, finding her limbs becoming less responsive as her body cools. She's going to hurt later.

Santana stands in front of her, holding both her hands. She squeezes both to regain Brittany's attention.

"Okay Britt I want you to close you eyes."

Brittany does and she feels Santana move closer to her.

"I'm going to run my hands over ever part of your face, your body and you are going to say hello."

Brittany laughs along with the obvious smile in Santana's voice. "I think you're trying to make me feel silly San."

"I wouldn't do that." It's a promise.

"Okay, I'm here. I'll try it."

Santana doesn't say anything else but moves ever closer so Brittany would swear she feels the heat of her body against her.

Santana is silent for a long moment and Brittany wonders if anything is happening yet. Maybe she really is lost in her own body.

Then she feels it. Santana's hands settle over the backs of Brittany's hands; not quite touching but never really leaving anything between them either. Brittany understands now; she needs to feel, understand her body again.

Santana remains close, her warm breath, brushing across Brittany's cheeks and neck whenever her gaze must drift between her two hands and Brittany's face.

Brittany tries to keep her own face passive even as she feels her body stimulated beyond understanding. Her heart is thundering in her chest and she wouldn't be surprised if Santana could hear it.

Santana's hands begin their drift up Brittany's arms in a slow, agonising burn of non-contact. The heat drifts up her forearms where the muscles continue to twitch, over the crook of her elbow and the swell of her bicep. Santana reaches her shoulders and Brittany knows by the breath against her neck that she isn't watching her hands any more. Santana's watching her closely and Brittany can feel the heat of her gaze just as keenly as the heat of her hands.

Brittany hears the quiver in her own breath as she tries to draw calming air in through her nose. The ache to touch Santana is only growing stronger and now Santana's not-touching hands are drifting a hairsbreadth away from her body.

The heat of Santana's hands leaves her shoulder to drift between their bodies. Brittany has to resist the urge to press forward when those hands brush over her hips then change direction.

Brittany has been counting Santana's breath so she knows when the shorter girl stops breathing with her hands drifting up over Brittany's stomach. The heat halts over her ribcage. Finally, after agonisingly long seconds the heat crosses over Brittany's breasts. Even through the tight wrappings under her shirt Brittany feels it keenly; her woman's body reacts to Santana's. The ache sparks and burns hotly but gradually quietens back down to a low smoulder as those hot hands finally cross up over her collar bones.

Santana's breath returns at the same time Brittany's does. Her hands hover over Brittany's neck making her think the lesson might be over.

"Not yet," Santana whispers quickly before Brittany can open her eyes.

Brittany swallows and keeps her eyes shut as Santana's breath quickens and her hands move up. Light fingertips breach the gap between them as Santana finally lets her touch land on Brittany's skin. It's both a relief and a kind of torture in one.

Those painfully gentle fingertips smooth over Brittany's jaw, her cheeks and the arch of her brow slowly. Two hands hesitate before drawing down over the delicate eyelids and shifting lashes.

Brittany feels Santana's breath halt again and she holds her own breath as Santana's fingertips brush down her nose and cheeks. Three delicate fingertips brush shakily past her lips pulling slightly at the lower. Brittany feels her lips part under the touch and she can't help the way her tongue chases after those delicate fingers. They're gone but a hint of a taste remains.

Brittany begins breathing again a beat after Santana does.

"Brittany, you can open you eyes now." Santana's voice is small but hopeful.

Brittany squares her shoulders, keeping her eyes closed long enough to gather that strength she knows Santana inspires in her. She opens them again to find Santana just inches from her. She smiles her confident, self assured smile and Santana sighs.

"That's what I was searching for," she says looking into Brittany's eyes. "I'm glad you're back Sweets."

Brittany's smile loosens naturally and her head tilts forward. Santana rocks onto her toes to catch up some of the height that separates them. She nudges her forehead against Brittany's and her eyes flutter closed. Santana sinks back so her feet are flat to the ground and Brittany follows after her. She tilts her head so her cheek rests against Santana's temple.

"Thank you," she whispers willing her words to somehow convey every ardent feeling she's ever possessed.

* * *

There is a video on my Tumblr which shows some of Brittany's dancing as I see it in my head.


	14. Because I Wanted To

**AN:** Now before you read I would like you all to do something for me. Please hold your hands over your heart and solemnly swear that you will not yell at me for being a tease. Okay. Did you swear? Good. This is the last chapter before things really take off. Keep in mind that real drama, turmoil and fluffy-fluff are all imminent so you may as well enjoy the cruisy fluff that this chapter contains. I love you guys and I'll look after you in the next chapters. I promise. There will be some content warnings if things are gonna get heavy.

You have no idea how much I wanted to quote Imagine Me and You when I was writing this(you'll know where) but I managed to control myself—just.

It's not totally essential or anything but the translations(hopefully close to accurate) are at the end.

* * *

San Francisco, California 1869

Brittany snuggles herself further into her blankets. Not because it's cold but because that's what you do for story time.

Holly sits on the edge of the bed with their novel _From the Earth to the Moon_. She finds the bookmark and starts reading from where they left off the night before. Her accent is still a little difficult to understand but Brittany can hear all the important words. Their book is such a wonderful adventure and Brittany hopes that she can fly to the moon one day.

Her eyes begin to droop and Holly is looking up at her every so often to see if she has been lost to sleep yet. Brittany is determined to be awake for longer yet and concentrates extra hard on keeping her eyes open(even if she has to hold them open, she will).

A noise from the other end of the house draws her from the edge of sleep and she sits up, excited. She could recognise the sounds of her father coming home even in her sleep. She hasn't seen him in so many days and she'd begun to worry that he would never come home.

"That must be your father," Holly says, pushing the bookmark between the open pages of their book before closing the cover.

"Can I go see him?" Brittany asks, excitement ringing in her voice.

She scoots a little closer to the edge of her bed and Holly laughs as she nods.

"Be quickly Baby-Doll. Say good night and come back so I can tuck you in."

Brittany doesn't say anything more as she leaps out of bed and rushes through her bedroom door. She slides a little across the floor in her socks but manages to maintain her balance. Holly has been teaching her a lot about balance in their dancing lessons. She practices the light steps almost everywhere she goes.

She wobbles forward on her tiptoes toward the foyer where her father must still be taking off his coat. She creeps up to the closed door, ready to jump in and surprise him but a second voice makes her wait. Her father is talking to another man in a quiet, angry voice.

She presses her eye against the keyhole feeling very daring as she spies on the two men in the next room.

Her father has his back to the door and the other man is facing him. The man is moving his arms around like he is very angry.

"This isn't right Pierce and you know it. How could you agree to do business with these—monsters?"

The man's voice is low and dangerous but her father's voice is colder still. She can't hear his words exactly but whatever he says makes the other man even angrier.

"Whether or not someone is going to miss them is beside the point. I wish you had discussed this decision with me before you entered into a deal that—"

"Am I supposed to discuss every little deal—"

"Allowing these poor girls to be passed through our docks is hardly a 'little deal' Pierce. The opium is one thing. That product is at least legal even if the men that ship it aren't. Last I checked slavery was still illegal in California." The man's voice is getting louder and higher. More demanding.

Brittany's father sighs. "What if I tell them that tomorrow's shipment will be the last? The money we're getting in the exchange will be enough to tie up every official in the city for the next year."

The man folds his arms across his chest, clearly conflicted. "Fine," he says finally. "But don't expect me to be there. If I actually have to see any of them…"

"I understand Morris. I'll take care of it."

They say a few more quiet words and the man turns to leave. Brittany forgets about saying goodnight to her father. She knows she shouldn't have been listening at the door. She didn't understand much but enough to know that she wasn't meant to hear any of it.

She moves quickly and quietly back to her bedroom. Holly is still there on the edge of the bed reading from a different book. Brittany recognises one of Holly's own books that she herself can't read.

"Co se děje, zlatíčko?" Holly's words are a jumble and Brittany looks at her confused.

"Are you okay?" Holly asks again.

Brittany nods as she climbs back onto her bed and under the covers. She tugs the blankets up under her chin and Holly tucks her in around the edges so she feels like a caterpillar all wrapped up and ready to become a butterfly.

"Nech si zdát své sladké sny, já políbím tvé jemné hrdlo, a i když musím odejít, ty budeš pořád se mnou," Holly murmurs her usual goodnight. "Sweet dreams my darling."

— s — — b —

Lima, Ohio 1871

I feel my backside make contact with the dirt and the air is knocked out of my chest by the impact. I stare up at the stupid boy that pushed me over. I won't cry. Crying is for babies. I certainly won't cry for this wooden headed, flea bitten, moose brain. Tommy Wilson won't see me cry.

I can't even push him back either. Papá works for Mr Wilson making sure that everything on the property runs the way it's supposed to. He has lots of men that he orders around to help him get all of the stock to market in time. Sometimes I get to help Papá out even though the work is hard. Papá says that if I was a boy then I'd grow up to take over but since I'm a girl, I'll have to find something else.

Papá also says that I have to be extra nice to the Wilson's son because he'll take over the property one day. If I'm mean to him now then he might not give me a job later on. I don't even want a stupid job on this stupid farm but I'll do as my Papá tells me. Even if Tommy does pick his nose.

I get up from the ground and dust off my butt. Damn to that Tommy. He's waiting, watching me from under the trees. I hate it when he watches me.

"Why don't you go be mean to someone else Tommy?" I call out to him.

"Because you're more annoying than anyone else, little girl!" he calls back.

I growl as I chase after him. He's only two months and three days older than me but he still likes to pretend like he's so much better than me. He's not. I'm stronger than him by ages and I've won enough arm wrestling matches to prove it.

Tommy runs around to the other side of the biggest tree when I get nearer to him.

"You're more annoying than anybody," I say making sure to mean it. "And I'm better than you at everything." I add.

"Are not!" he says quickly.

"Are too." My hands are on my hips as I come around the base of the tree to glare at him fully.

"Are not." He repeats.

Boys are stupid.

"I am too and I can prove it," I say looking around for a way to do just that.

"Oh yeah? How?" he asks looking like he doesn't really want to go up against me in another arm wrestling match or running race.

I smirk, knowing that it's because I would win.

I look up into the tree beside us. "I bet I can climb higher than you can." I say, pressing my hand against the trunk.

The bark is rough and I know I can beat him even if he's taller than me. This is a game of chicken and I'm not afraid of anything.

Tommy looks up into the branches and swallows. "I bet you can't he says," not sounding nearly as confident as me.

"Fine," I say pushing back the annoying weight of my hair.

I kind of wish that I'd let Mrs Wilson put it in a braid this morning like she'd wanted to. But I like it better when I can run and feel it blowing back in the wind. It makes me feel fast.

It's not so good for climbing trees though so I twist it around my hand and push it under the collar of my dress before looking for a good branch. There's only one low enough for me to reach but it's all I need to get up into the tree.

I get higher and higher. My legs tangle in my skirt a little but it doesn't stop me. When I turn around, Tommy is only on the first branch, looking up at me.

"I knew were chicken Tommy." I sit myself on a secure branch to watch as Tommy finally begins climbing after me.

"Am not," he grunts reaching the branch I'm sitting on.

"Are too," I say, bracing my hands against the branch to get ready to climb higher.

But then Tommy is way too close to me and he's pressing his lips against mine. I can't push him away because my hands are still hard against the branch. He pulls back after a moment and his face is a bright red. Seeing his rosy cheeks, I feel my own face get hot.

"What did you do that for?" I ask.

"Because I wanted to."

— s — — b —

Clothier New Mexico 1880

Brittany's cheeks are still stained with drying tears and I don't hesitate to wipe them away with both my hands. Her skin is so warm under my touch and I feel like she could burn through me if I held on too long.

I don't let go.

I want to kiss her. I've wanted to all day. Except for maybe straight after she ate that cricket. I wouldn't go anywhere near her right after that, no matter how adorable she looked in the moment after she agreed to Mike's challenge.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks, that easy smile still holding strong.

I laugh, letting my hands drop. "Just how disgusting it was to watch you eat a cricket."

"But you didn't even see it," she exclaims. "You had your eyes covered the whole time."

"Did not," I protest even if it's true.

"Did too," she replies but it's so quiet i can barely hear it past her grin.

I can't help but just look at her. The mess of blonde hair halos her face as the light continues to radiate from seemingly every angle. The dense liquid quality of the light has started to fade but Brittany remains just as beautiful.

I have to look away from her as the expansive feeling in my chest threatens to consume me. I take her hand to help make up for the loss and I feel my skin tingle.

"So, Sweets, what now?" I ask, being careful to limit the time I look directly at her.

Brittany squeezes my hand. "Whatever you want to do. I can take you home if you'd like." Her words are heavy as though she likes this option about as much as I do.

I quickly shake my head. "No, I'd like to stay here."

Her smile is so far beyond sweet, I can barely stand it.

Brittany keeps a hold of my hand as she gathers her coat and shirt. I worry that she's going to go back to wearing them but she just holds them in one hand as she guides me into the longer grass; a trail forms behind us as the grass remains flat in our wake.

Since I'm walking behind her I can see that there's a slight unevenness to Brittany's step. It makes me worry but her smile is clear and bright when she looks at me so I don't ask if she's alright. If she's in any pain, then she's content to ignore it.

We stop in the midst of knee high grass and she looks up into the sky. The light has changed enough that the blue sky and clouds have become visible above us.

"Will you lie with me?" she asks, blushing at the forward sounding words.

I nod easily.

She lets go of my hand and starts flattening out the grass immediately around us with her bare feet.

"Don't your feet hurt against the ground?"

She shrugs, "Not really. I run without my boots as much as possible so my feet are pretty tough."

I grimace a little. "That's a bit grosse Britt."

She smiles at me with a shrug. "It's just dirt, San."

"Exactly," I say with a laugh.

She lays out her jacket and shirt on the ground and I realise what she's doing.

"Lucky I have extra clothes, since you don't like dirt then" she says, sitting back on her haunches to look up at me.

She has stretched out her jacket and shirt in a blanket against the grass and she's kneeling beside them both, holding her hand out to me.

I don't take her hand straight away. "Next time, I'm bringing a blanket."

Her eyes flash and her grin grows, slipping into that confident smile I love far too much.

I take her hand, letting her support me as I kneel on her shirt and then sit on her jacket. I feel a tight nervousness in my stomach as I let go of Brittany's hand and lie down on one side of the makeshift blanket. I keep my shoulders off the ground with my elbows behind me.

Brittany looks down at me for a long moment.

"Sweets?" I ask, feeling increasingly unsettled under the intensity of her gaze.

She makes me feel vulnerable and exposed in a way I haven't felt in a long time.

Brittany finally looks away into the trees and seems to steel herself before she turns back to settle beside me. She lies on my left, mimicking my posture with her shoulders off the ground. She looks at the sky and I do the same. I can see shapes in the clouds and I know that Brittany will be finding shapes and making up stories as well.

"Do you ever wonder why we meet the people we do?" she asks suddenly.

I think about it for a moment. "Not really," I say. "I try not to ask why about anything."

"Why not?" she asks, a smirk in her voice.

I shrug with one shoulder, "There's no point. Knowing why doesn't change what is. It's easier not to think about it."

Brittany frowns as she turns to her side and props her head up against her hand, elbow pressed into the fabric of her jacket. "But asking _why_ helps us understand. Especially for bad things."

I shrug again, not really sure what to say.

"I'm glad I met you," she says, voice low like a confession.

I feel a warmth spread through me. "So am I sweets," I say turning on my side to face her.

Brittany shifts her head against her hand and the trio of bruises by her temple become more visible in the light. I reach out and let my fingers brush over them. Her eyes flutter closed at my touch so I let my hand drift down her cheek and over her shoulder. My hand settles where I can feel the bandages around her chest through the fabric of her shirt.

"Do you regret joining the army?" I ask.

"Not any more," she says.

I let my eyes ask why.

"Because if I hadn't then I wouldn't have met you." Her smile quirks in a goofy grin and I can't help but laugh.

"Why did you do all this?" I ask, my fingers shifting her shirt over the rough creases of the bandage.

"I thought you don't ask why," she says with a wry grin.

"Be serious Britt," I scold with my words, unable to slap at her considering my hand rests nearest her bruised skin.

She sighs and lets her hand drop so her head settles against the crook of her elbow instead.

"It's complicated."

I lie down like she does so just my arm is keeping my head from the ground. "Try me."

Brittany sighs. "I had a brother," she begins, her smile turning sad. "His name was Brent."

"So your parents named you Brent and Brittany?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

Brittany rolls her eyes with a smile. "I know," she laughs. "Brent is a family name and if I were a boy it would have been my name since I was born first. Brittany was as close as my Father could get in a girl's name."

"So what happened to your brother?"

"He was killed the same time as my father. Shot by someone who didn't like the way they did business."

"I'm so sorry Britt," I say, rubbing my thumb against her side.

"It was a long time ago now," she says. "I didn't have a lot of time to feel sad. The police came and took everything a week after they were killed."

I can't help but gasp, "But why would they do that? What were you supposed to do?"

"I was nearly nineteen," she explains. "An adult who could take care of herself."

I feel anger burning through me on Brittany's behalf.

"And my father wasn't a very good person," she continues. "He—" she looks at me carefully. "He hurt a lot of people Santana."

"So what did you do?" I ask, needing to know, even though I have the answer in front of me.

"I didn't join the army straight away," she explains seeing my glance toward her uniform. "I didn't know what to do. When I heard that my father and brother had been killed I was lost. The solicitor that came to tell me wouldn't give me any of the details. He just told me I had a week to leave the house and left an envelope with twenty dollars."

I can't believe that anyone could be so cruel to her. It just isn't right.

"I would have been on the streets on my own but Holly found a hotel that would take me and give me work. She left three days after my father died but she made sure I had somewhere to stay. I was a terrible maid though," she laughs.

I can't return the smile this time because I hate that Holly just left her like that.

"She shouldn't have left you."

Brittany sees my disgruntled expression. "I wasn't her responsibility Santana."

"Still."

"She had to do that Santana, otherwise I wouldn't be here. Things are exactly how they're meant to be."

She pulls my hand from her side so she can squeeze my palm then tangles our fingers together.

"I still don't have to like her," I say to our joined hands.

Brittany chuckles. "No, I guess not. I'm sure she'd like you though."

I feel my face begin to heat so I prompt Brittany to return to her story. "So you were a maid?" I ask, not entirely able to imagine it.

"No," she laughs. "I was no good as a maid but I had an idea. I didn't tell Holly, even when she was leaving. I knew I could never get a job as a girl and I would have no way to support myself. I spent the twenty dollars on my first few nights at the hotel and spent my days watching men move around on the streets. I took my Brother's clothes before I left home. I thought about cutting my hair."

"I'm so glad you didn't," I blurt out.

Brittany smiles but continues her story. "I found a cap instead and went into the docks. I found work there." She looks off to the side as though looking for the right way to explain. "I pretended to be my brother. I never really knew what he did out there but a lot of people seemed to know him. Or at least, they knew _of_ him. It was a kind of luck that very few people knew exactly what he looked like. It was easy for me to be him. Brent was always so skinny." She smiles as if remembering a time when she might have teased him for it.

"I tried to keep out of trouble," she says with a frown that suggests that trouble still found her. "But it got dangerous." She doesn't elaborate on what the danger was and I don't ask. "I had to get out and the army was the best way. I had already spent enough time as a boy that it seemed like the obvious answer. I was strong enough and tall enough that no one really cared that I was skinny. So long as I could hold a rifle."

"Weren't you scared?" I ask, knowing that I would probably have been lost on the streets if I'd been in Brittany's position.

"I was terrified. I started wrapping my chest the day I went to the army office. I hadn't really worried about it before then."

I glance down to where the top of the bandages are made visible by the stretch in her undershirt.

"Does it hurt?" I ask, curious.

Her mouth twitches at the edges in a sort of face shrug that makes me smile.

"No more than your underclothes do," she says.

"So that's a yes," I suggest with a small laugh.

She doesn't say anything more and I consider what it must be like for a moment. She'd appeared so conflicted while she danced and so broken when she finally became still. I'd only understood some of what she'd said but if she feels conflicted about her body and who she is then her bound chest certainly can't help.

I still don't know what I can do to help her understand herself. I'd run my hands across her body in a selfish impulse. That it had helped at all was a small miracle. That I'd managed to not kiss her was a big miracle.

"Do you ever take it off?" I ask, thinking of the way she and I had both held our breath as my hands passed over her chest.

"Only when I bathe," she says easily.

My mind goes blank at the fresh reminder that Brittany bathes, undoubtedly naked in a pool less than a hundred yards away from where we're lying.

I swallow thickly, not quite believing that I'm really about to say the words.

"Do you want to?" I ask, barely above a whisper, still staring at our hands.

— s — — b —

Brittany sucks in a sharp breath. It sends a shooting pain out from under her ribs but she ignores it. She can't unbind her chest. It would be dangerous and foolish and completely inappropriate right now.

"Yes," she says, without even meaning to. She shifts her head against her arm in an awkward nod.

She doesn't move any more, clamping down on her muscles and demanding they stop.

Santana sits up and motions for Brittany to do the same. She does so without hesitation(damn, Hell). Santana looks down at Brittany's chest as her fingers walk across her shirt covered stomach. She taps the buckle of her belt and a thrill courses through Brittany's body as her mind goes inevitably to the night Santana had kissed across her stomach.

Brittany nods again, leaning back far enough that Santana can loosen her belt. Santana isn't looking at her face so she misses the nod but takes Brittany's shift of posture as permission enough.

Santana tugs at the belt until it comes loose. The release of pressure from Brittany's still tender bruises feels wonderful. She could kiss Santana. She would. She wants to.

Santana's hands move back to her shirt, quickly pulling the hem from her waistband. She looks up into Brittany's eyes for the first time and they both freeze.

Brittany feels as though this moment is incredibly important. They're about to cross a line in their friendship that they might not be able to come back from. Even with all the physical liberties they've already taken and exchanged this would be the most substantial.

Brittany had been able to convince herself that Santana's kisses had been a comfort from a friend, convince herself that Wednesday night was an exception. Her injuries had left her weak. Santana had been so angry and felt so helpless when Brittany refused to tell her who was responsible. They're friendship could continue without any damage done. But this, given everything else that has happened today will be something altogether different.

Santana withdraws her hands and sits back. Brittany is relieved she won't have to be the one to decide.

"Turn around?" Santana requests quietly.

Brittany looks at her confused.

"Turn around so I can lift your shirt up."

"Oh." Brittany swings her feet out over the flattened grass so her back is to Santana.

She waits—unable to breath—for Santana to touch her. To do anything. She stares at the trees ahead of her so she won't turn back.

If she weren't completely frozen in place she might have jumped as Santana's hand lands softly between her shoulder blades. She remains stock still as Santana's fingertips play along the top edge of the bandages. The material of her undershirt feels utterly insubstantial with the heat of Santana's palm pressed along her spine.

Santana's other hand presses against her side, her fingers exploring the edges of the bandages. Brittany isn't sure what she's looking for. She isn't sure of anything except the continued tingling radiating across every inch of her skin as both of Santana's hands explore her back and sides. The warmth that radiates through her shirt as Santana slides her hands across Brittany's back feels like…

Finally, both Santana's hands hold still against the spot where Brittany had tucked the end of the bandages into the rest to hold them tight. Santana had been searching through the fabric of Brittany's undershirt for the bandage end. Brittany can't help but wonder what it might have felt like to have Santana's fingers exploring against her bare flesh like that. A shiver moves down her spine.

"Are you okay?" Santana asks sounding breathless.

Brittany just nods, not trusting her voice.

"Okay," Santana breaths out, her hands disappearing from Brittany's back.

Brittany can hear her shuffle closer and she closes her eyes, taking deep, steadying breaths. Every breath pulls at her ribs and causes a radiating pain but she doesn't stop. She knows she needs the distraction because Santana's hands have returned to her sides and are drifting down toward her hips.

She thinks she hears Santana gulp as she takes hold of the hem of her shirt but it was probably just her imagination. Santana tugs at the fabric until it folds up to expose her back to her shoulder blades and up over her stomach to her ribs. Brittany keeps her eyes squeezed shut and her hands balanced against her knees.

Santana smooths the material over with both hands so it holds against itself at Brittany's shoulders. Brittany swallows as she feels the back of Santana's hands brush down her back, not pulling away until they reach her hips. Another shiver runs along her spine but this time Santana doesn't comment. She knows as well as Brittany does that her hands were the cause.

She stops breathing as Santana's hands return to dance over her skin. Delicate fingers trace over the bumps of Brittany's spine and she wonders if she might not die from keeping so still. The urge to lean back into Santana's touch is almost impossible to resist(almost). She sits up straight and still as a statue focusing on keeping her breath. If she died from a lack of air in this moment and missed the next she would be extremely unhappy with herself.

Santana's hands seem to be following a similar path on her back as they had across her front. She had been standing, facing Santana before and it was intense enough. Brittany had also been more or less fully clothed. Now they're sitting together with her skin bared and it feels…

Santana's hands finally come together at the point where the bandage end tucks into the rest. The warmth of her fingers disappear for a moment before they tuck back in under the bandages and pull.

There's a faint, familiar crackle of sound as the fabric pulls away from the material beneath it. The first layer disappears quickly and then the next with Santana's hands passing the bundled cloth across Brittany's stomach. Santana's arms brush her sides making her stomach flip every time the hot skin streaks across her own.

At the last layers the material becomes loose across Brittany's breasts, eventually dropping around her stomach. Santana tugs the last coil from behind and the friction of the material passing over Brittany's stomach causes another visible shudder to pass over her. Her skin is finally free and it feels…

Brittany reopens her eyes and glances around the clearing to see that the light has hardly changed. It took moments for Santana to remove the bandages but it feels like hours have passed. Hours of blissful agony.

— s — — b —

I'm a lunatic. It's the only explanation. Or I fell asleep and this is some incredibly stimulating dream. That could be it.

I almost can't believe Brittany let me touch her like that again. I shouldn't have done it. I need to learn to keep my hands to myself. But I haven't needed to do that since I was fifteen and I don't think I know how to try to do it now.

Through every lingering touch I expected Brittany to ask me to stop. I've crossed every line presented to me and Brittany is still here. Somehow, she doesn't walk away. She doesn't question me and she doesn't tell me to stop.

I tug at the bundle of material and the end finally pulls across Brittany's hips and into my lap. I'm sitting so close to her that it would be nothing to lean forward and press my lips against her bare spine. I pull her shirt back down instead.

I shift back to reclining against our makeshift blanket and start to wind up the bandages to distract myself. Brittany turns back so she's facing me again. I keep my eyes fixed to the material in my hands.

I won't let myself look at Brittany right now. I can't let my eyes linger across her body and I certainly won't be staring at her chest or examining her newly exposed figure or the way her shirt clings to her breasts, revealing their outline and the darker shade of her—.

Damn, Hell.

The fabric in my hands is still a useless bundle and Brittany could not have missed the way that I stared at her. I swallow nervously, waiting for the questions or accusations to begin.

They never do.

Brittany lets out a content sigh and lies on her back, her arms folded behind her head and her legs outstretched in the picture of relaxation. Her eyes are closed and there's a small smile on her lips. If she noticed my leering she was completely undisturbed by it and obviously has no intention of saying anything.

I try to shake off my moment of panic.

"Feel better?" I ask, trying to inject a playful tone into my voice.

Brittany nods without opening her eyes.

I look down at her relaxed form. "How are your ribs?" I wonder aloud.

She quirks her lips down in that odd face-shrug and I wonder if I'm going to see it more often. I hope so since it's adorable.

I'd still like to know about her ribs though. I play with the hem of Brittany's shirt, watching her face. The relaxed smile is still in place though she's now watching me from under heavy lids. I nudge the edge of her shirt slowly over her hips and she continues to just watch, lifting her hips just enough for the shirt to slip up her back.

I look between my hands and her eyes as I slowly push the shirt upwards. I don't stop until the fabric is gathered over her ribs, just below her breasts.

I won't be held responsible for the way my knuckle grazes the underside of her breast. Because I am a lunatic.

I finally look down to her abdomen and feel my heart clench at the yellowed bruises still scattered across her abdomen.

— s — — b —

If Santana's intention was to drive Brittany to distraction then she has succeeded. Brittany is caught part way between pleasantly relaxed and intensely over stimulated. She's intensely relaxed. It should be impossible but with Santana hovering over her, with her chest unbound, with the sun shining down on them and the rest of the afternoon to do as they please Brittany really is relaxing with intensity.

Brittany wonders absently if Santana will kiss her bruises again. She doesn't know if it would succeed in relaxing her or just cause further stimulation. She suspects her skin might just light on fire and they both would die in an explosion of suppressed energy.

She tries to keep still. She even keeps her hands behind her head so she won't be tempted to do anything ridiculous like touch Santana. If only Santana would take the same initiative instead of playing with the edge of her shirt.

Brittany watches but not really as Santana slowly pushes her shirt up. Her pulse is thundering under her skin and connecting on every beat with her groin. There's a heat in her abdomen that just won't stop building. God, if Santana touches her she will definitely end up doing something foolish.

And then Santana accidentally brushes against her. Brittany wraps her fingers in her own hair and tugs. She squeezes her eyes shut and silently begs her hips to remain still.

— s — — b —

I look up into Brittany's face and see her eyes shut tightly.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" I ask.

She shakes her head in a little jerk.

"The way you moved Brittany," I think of the way she danced and a shiver runs through me. "The way you danced was incredible. I had no idea you were so strong."

I run my fingers gently over the bruised outline of her rib and I see the defined muscles of her stomach twitch. I can't wait until the bruises are gone and I can properly see the muscles of her torso. They must be incredible.

I really am a danger to myself.

I quickly remove my hand from her warm skin and tug her shirt back down, forcing myself to keep my touch innocent this time.

I almost succeed.

A shiver runs over her as my knuckles brush the sharp definition of her hip.

"Are you cold Sweets?"

She shakes her head but then, "Yes, maybe a little."

There are goosebumps on her arms but we are still sitting on her clothes.

I have an idea.

I lie down beside her again and very slowly get closer. Her eyes are closed again and I can see her throat shift as she swallows.

Brittany's eyes open and I'm startled by how deeply blue they are. "San?" she asks, apparently confused by my suddenly close proximity.

Her arm comes out from behind her head and she starts to lean forward.

"No, stay still," I say quickly.

She stops moving and lets her right arm fall stretched out from her body. I think she knows what I want to do and the gesture could be deliberate. I move slowly(so slowly) all the same. I shuffle down her body until I can rest my head against her shoulder and I very carefully drape my body over her right side and wrap my arm across her torso.

Her arm wraps over my shoulders as soon as I'm settled and I _know_ that this is where I'm meant to be.

— s — — b —

Brittany just lays back and feels. She closes her eyes and presses her nose into Santana's hair feeling her body finally begin to relax, the slight chill completely consumed by Santana's warmth. She listens to Santana's soft breathing and feels her chest rise and fall under her arm. It feels so right to have Santana in her arms.

Brittany feels utterly content. So long as she has Santana in her arms she knows she can keep her safe.

Santana takes a deeper breath. "Thank you. For dancing for me Britt," she says quietly. "I don't think I said so earlier but I loved watching you."

Brittany's breath catches on 'loved'. It feels important to her.

"I'm glad," she says simply, quietly.

Santana doesn't say anything more and Brittany just holds her, loving the feel of having Santana so, so close.

She watches the clouds overhead, easily making the shapes of her favourite things against the blue. Time slips by and she doesn't worry about a thing that exists beyond the clearing. She doesn't even register the pain in her chest anymore. It doesn't matter.

Santana's breathing becomes slow and deep. Brittany's certain that she has fallen asleep and loves that Santana would feel so comfortable lying against her. It makes her feel like she might be someone special to Santana. Like maybe whatever Santana feels for her is something that could match what she feels for Santana.

Brittany wants to know what Santana feels but more than that, she wants Santana to know that she…

She wants Santana to understand how important she is. She wants Santana to know that she feels for her in a way that she has never felt about anyone before.

She realises with a startling clarity that Santana is _the_ most important part of her life.

"I'm so glad I met you Santana," she murmurs. "I wish I could tell you properly. When you're awake."

She smiles and lifts her free arm to push Santana's hair back from her face. The dark waves tumble over her bare shoulders and Brittany longs to lean down far enough to press her lips there.

"You're so beautiful Santana. I know there must be hundreds of men that tell you that all the time but I hope you know. And not just on the outside. You're a beautiful person and far too wonderful for me. One day I might even deserve you."

Brittany closes her eyes and opens them again, imagining that she is seeing Santana for the first time. Those impossibly long lashes, the round of her cheeks and the perfect curve of her lips. If she could just taste them.

— s — — b —

Lima, Ohio 1871

"What are you doing?"

Tommy is leaning in again. I didn't want that first kiss and I definitely don't want another one.

"Why not Santana?"

"You hate me. I'm just a," I look around for the word. "I'm nobody."

Tommy frowns, "Don't say that Santana."

"Fine. I'm still just a girl."

"A pretty girl," he says bashfully. It seems like he can't even help himself from saying these things.

He leans in again but I've had enough. If I can't push him then I'll just have to get away from him. I know I can climb higher than him. That's why I'm in this tree after all.

I push off from the branch like I'd originally intended and step onto the next. I grab onto a higher branch and swing up, using all my strength.

"Wait, Santana," Tommy calls, standing up on the branch. "Don't go up that high."

I ignore him and keep climbing. I won't slow down until I know that he can't follow me. The branches are getting slender and the wind is blowing my skirts around me. I keep climbing.

I reach for the next branch and my hair gets caught in the wind shifting to cover my eye. I can still see through the other one so I grab for the branch. I misjudge the distance and my fingers slip past it. My stomach lurches and my heart misses a beat as both my hands scramble for something to hold onto. I over balance and as I grab for a different branch I feel my foot slip. The bark at this height is smooth and slippery and I can't get a hold. I try to move and regain a better balance but my skirt is in the way.

I'm falling.

I feel twigs and branches grab at my limbs and my body. I don't scream but someone does. Tommy shouts my name before I hit the ground.

I don't see anything. Then there's light and I can hear Tommy running and shouting.

"Mr Lopez! Mr Lopez Santana's hurt!"

I blink but can't open my eyes again for such a long time.

I hope Papá isn't upset with me.

His footsteps are so much heavier than Tommy's. I hear him and feel his step through the ground under me. I try to sit up but my head feels strange and my arm hurts a lot.

"What were you doing Santana?"

I try to tell him it hurts but he shushes me gently as he lifts me carefully into his arms. I feel safe there as he rushes me toward the main house. I only wish I didn't have to fall from a tree to have him hold me like this again.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880.

I honestly didn't expect to fall asleep and I definitely didn't expect to dream of my father. It's been a long time since I dreamt of home. I am a little disoriented waking up in the clearing with Brittany underneath me. Though there's certainly worse ways to wake up than wrapped in Brittany's arms. She's still holding tightly to my shoulders. My arm is wrapped around her, resting just under her breasts. Her chest rises and falls and I can feel her warm breath in my hair.

I feel content to lie in her arms forever but I realise with a jolt that I don't know how long I was asleep for.

"You're awake," Brittany murmurs.

I reluctantly pull myself back from her body to see her. She truly takes my breath away. Her smile is serene and her eyes are so gentle; she looks at me like I am the only person worth anything in the world.

I tear my eyes away from her to look around the clearing. The light has almost entirely disappeared and the trees around us are growing dark.

"It's getting late isn't it?" I ask, wishing I needn't draw attention to the time.

Brittany nods, her smile dimming.

"I don't want to leave," I admit.

"Neither do I," Brittany says immediately, making my heart seize in my chest.

I lie back down against her with my head on her chest. I feel a light kiss pressed into my hair.

I have to resist the urge to turn my head to kiss her sternum where her skin is visible above her shirt.

"Will I get to see you tomorrow?" I ask instead.

Brittany sighs and I know the answer is no. "Maybe Wednesday," she suggests. "I could come see you sing again. Maybe I could finally dance with you."

I can hear the smile in her voice.

We stand together and I hand Brittany the rolled up bandages. I turn my back so she can begin winding them back over her chest. I peek behind to see how far she's gotten and find her watching me. My cheeks instantly heat but Brittany just smiles.

"Would you mind?" she says, holding out the bundled end of her bandages; the other end is already wrapped a few times around her, returning her chest to the familiar flat planes. I'm amazed that simple bandages could be so effective.

I shake my head and take the bandages, stepping into her personal space and trying not to react when her fingertips brush mine. Brittany looks into my eyes with an intensity likely to make my heart stop beating. I hold my breath, waiting for something to happen.

Brittany's lips part as though she would say something but then close again. She shakes her head minutely and looks down at my hands. I realise that I still haven't moved to fix her bandages.

"Um, lift your arms?" I make my request so quietly I'm surprised she can even hear me but she does. She lifts her arms until her hands are on the back of her head.

"Hold this," I lift up her shirt to reveal the flat planes of her stomach and the thin straps of fabric that hides stretches of her perfect body away.

She takes hold of her shirt and I make eye contact with her again when our fingers graze. I wish I could just tell her. I look down instead.

I move myself around her body, wrapping the bandages tight against her chest. I concentrate on my hands and the bandages, avoiding her gaze. My fingers brush against her skin a few times but I don't stop until only a few inches of fabric are loose. I tuck it securely under the rest, taking a moment longer than necessary to be sure the fabric won't slip.

I look up into her face once my job is done and find that her eyes are closed and she is breathing deeply through her nose.

"All done," I say lightly, trying to break the tension of the moment.

Her eyes snap open and she looks at me with that same intensity until finally she blinks, shakes her head once and takes a deliberate step away from me. I feel instantly colder. Her hands are still pulled to the back of her head but she finally drops them and her undershirt so she can bend to pick up her uniform from the ground.

Brittany is slow to pull her shirt and jacket back over her shoulders. I step forward as Brittany draws her shirt together and she lets me push her hands away and do up the buttons for her. She's perfectly capable of doing it herself but I want to be close to her for as long as possible. I'm eternally grateful that she lets me.

— s — — b —

Santana doesn't say anything as Brittany takes her hand to lead them out of the clearing and back to the camp. She stays as close to her as the trees will allow and Brittany loves that Santana would want to be there with her.

They walk with their hands held together all the way back to Corcorans. If anyone wanted their attention on the way neither of them notice. Brittany doesn't see anything but Santana. Their words are light as they talk about Wednesday nights and music but Brittany's heart feels heavy. She walks slowly, hoping to delay their separation for as long as possible. If she wasn't expected in the mess to serve dinner then she wouldn't leave Santana at all.

They come to a natural stop a few yards from the stairs leading up to the House.

"Are you sure you don't have more time?" Santana asks.

Brittany nods, trying to smile so Santana won't think of her as being so sombre once she leaves.

"I'll see you day after next," she reminds them both.

She takes Santana's hands and steps closer to her. Santana meets her halfway and Brittany doesn't hesitate to lower her forehead to press against Santana's. She breathes deep, taking in the clean scent of Santana's hair. There's a hint of grass and fresh air from the clearing which Brittany absolutely loves.

"Don't forget about me," Santana says quietly, sadly.

Brittany could never. She takes one more deep breath then steps away, the confident smile back on her lips. She concentrates on bringing it to her eyes so Santana can really see it.

"You know I won't be thinking of anything else," she whispers. It's almost too close to the truth but she can't bring herself to use any other words.

With the warmth in Santana's eyes and the heat she can feel from Santana's hands in her own, Brittany knows it's the only thing she could ever say.

She also knows that next time she sees Santana she will be ready. She'll tell her just how beautiful, how special, how kind and wonderful she is. Next time Brittany will be brave. Next time she'll kiss Santana with all the passion and want she holds in her heart.

* * *

_Co se děje, zlatíčko?_ = What' s wrong, sweetie?

_Nech si zdát své sladké sny, já políbím tvé jemné hrdlo, a i když musím odejít, ty budeš pořád se mnou_ = So dream your sweet little dreams, and I will kiss your tiny cheek and though I must leave now know that you'll always be with me


	15. Utterly Inconsequential Lamp

**AN:** Hello my lovelies. I have a content warning on this chapter as hinted at last update. Once again related to the Santana being a prostitute thing. It's not violent or graphic but it's emotionally un-fun. Like any angst I write, it has a purpose in the plot so I hope everyone can just squint though it. It'll be okay. I promise there is sugary sweetness on the other side. I'm not leaving you on any horrible cliff hangers or anything either. All will be well.

* * *

I close the door to my room behind me. Quinn is inside but she's reading a book and not paying me any attention. I strip off my outer clothes and release the clasps on my corset. I drop all of it on the floor beside my bed, ignoring the sound of protest Quinn makes. I throw in a rude gesture at her as I flop back on my bed just to be sure. She shakes her head at me and goes back to reading.

I could say my thoughts have returned to Brittany if only they had ever really left her. It's like she's taken over my every thought and I can't focus on anything else. Since Quinn's confession and my own revelation this infatuation has only gotten worse. Infatuation is a terrible word though.

Our friendship went from nothing to something to everything in such a short time. I can barely remember what my life had been like before I met Brittany. What would I have been doing right now if I wasn't with Brittany? Probably sitting here watching Quinn read or something as equally thrilling.

The truth is, there was nothing really worth while in my life before Brittany. I worked, I cleaned, and I watched the other girls watch the soldiers that occasionally came through town(it had never seemed a strange habit before now). I had a few friends in Quinn, and the girls, in Mike and maybe even Shelby. Nothing comes close to Brittany though.

If only I knew how Brittany felt about me. I know she wants to be my friend. I'd like to think that she cares for me. Sometimes she looks at me and I could swear she does but I have no real evidence to prove anything beyond a friendly regard.

I try to remember every word and gesture Brittany and I have exchanged since I met her. I try to recall anything that might suggest Brittany feels the same as I do.

I can't think of anything that would tell me either way. The fact that she never pushed me away gives me hope. She certainly seemed happy to see me and though that does feel strange it doesn't necessarily mean a greater affection beyond friendship. Thinking of the way Brittany called me hers sends a thrill through me and sets my heart thundering. But it's so possible that the word 'mine' is just friendly, innocent. I can call Brittany mine and be describing a friendship.

The truth is, I've let myself fall into this wanting, this infatuation based on nothing more than Brittany's kindness and innocent spirit. I'm so lost in her smile. Every time is like I lose my mind and I have to search for it again before I can even begin to form a coherent thought. If Quinn told me that she was this kind of lost in another person I would probably slap her.

Why does Brittany have to be so wonderful? It's just not fair. Now every inappropriate thought I have about her fills me with guilt. Had I taken advantage of Brittany's vulnerable emotional state when I had my hands on her?

God, she was a mess of raw nerves in that clearing and I took advantage of her. I'm the worst kind of person.

I am so angry with myself. I'm furious and scared of what all of this means, of what Brittany means to me. it's not fair that she can do this to me. I never asked for any of this.

What if Brittany figures out how much I want her? More importantly, what if she realises the _kind_ of wanting? What will she think of me? Will she think I'm some kind of deviant and not want to talk to me ever again? Maybe she's thinking about our day together and already coming to the conclusion that she doesn't want to be my friend anymore? With the way I've been acting, I wouldn't be surprised.

I feel like the most lecherous awful person for looking at Brittany the way I do. She looks at me with so much trust and all I could think of was what she might look like without that thin undershirt, without those dark blue slacks covering her long, slender legs.

I'm breathing far too heavily. I don't know whether it's panic from this awful guilt tearing at me or from the thought that maybe Brittany could want me the same way that I want her(I can hope she does). I'm being torn in two. I spent the day just basking in Brittany's beautiful, calming presence and the minute she's gone from my side I fall to pieces. What is wrong with me?

"What _is_ wrong with you?" Quinn's voice startles me and I realise I must have spoken the last thought aloud. "Are you having some kind of attack?" she asks.

I shake my head but end up nodding instead as I feel hot tears well up in my eyes. God, what is she doing to me? I am Santana Lopez. I'm not some weak girl who cries over her feelings.

Quinn puts down her book, "Oh my god, are you crying? What did that boy do to you?"

I just shake my head again, feeling completely overwhelmed and so frustrated. Quinn can't even understand and I can't tell her anything that I'm thinking.

Quinn puts her book aside and shifts to sit beside me on the bed. I don't hesitate to lay my head in her lap and wrap my arms around her legs. She stiffens instantly. This isn't how we interact. Unless we're horrendously drunk we barely touch each other.

After an awkward moment I feel Quinn's fingers in my hair, pushing the tangled strands away from my face.

"Can you tell me what happened?" she asks me again. "Did he hurt you?"

I shake my head, "No of course not. Sh—He's perfect."

There's a pause. "Then what's the problem?"

"I—I just—" I draw in a loudly quivering breath, trying to calm myself down. "I just can't. We can't."

"Is this about sex?" Quinn asks bluntly.

I try to shake my head. Is this about sex? This hunger that I feel for her. Every time she takes my hand, every time I get to touch her I'm filled with so much warmth.

"I don't know," I say honestly. "We haven't—" I can't say any more.

Quinn's fingers hesitate in my hair, "I'm going to ask you a question and you have to promise not to get angry."

I nod dumbly.

"Are you in love with him?" she says it clearly and concisely so I can't pretend to mishear her.

I don't know how to respond. The answer isn't no. I can't answer yes. Brittany is so amazing and I want to be with her in every moment of every day. I hunger for her in a way that I've never experienced before but it goes beyond that. I want to care for her, I'm protective of her, of her heart.

"It's like I _could_ fall in love with—" I can't say 'him' in this moment. These words, these thoughts are too big and too important to include the lies. "I think that whatever this _is_ could be becoming l—love."

Quinn is completely silent for a long moment and I look up at her. I think she might even have stopped breathing.

"Quinn?" I call her attention, suddenly worried.

"Oh my God," she says in a short, low breath.

My heart stops beating.

— s — — b —

Sam hears Brent before he sees him. Anyone could hear the sublime happiness in his voice. It's a little higher than Sam is used to hearing and he wonders what's gotten into the man. He continues to do what he can to lower the flame under the cook's stew while he waits for his friend to appear.

When Brent finally waltzes into the mess tent he's wearing the same happy grin he wore the night Sam dropped that Sugar girl off at Corcorans. It's the grin Brent wears when thinking about Miss Santana. Sam hasn't seen Brent since he and Miss Santana left Corcorans and he's been worried for Brent.

"I don't think I've seen you all day. Where have you been hiding?" Sam asks, trying to sound friendly rather than accusing.

Brent just smiles and puts his hands in his pockets, giving a nonchalant shrug as he says, "Just with Santana."

"Did you spend the whole day at Corcoran's?" Sam asks, admittedly a little shocked.

"Nooo," Brent sing songs.

He wants Sam to ask about his day. Sam hesitates only because he knows that look and he knows its because of Santana. Sam wants to be understanding. Everything that Brent has said about Santana makes her sound like a nice girl but…well she's still not exactly the kind of girl he would wish for Brent.

Brent is such a good, steadfast man, he should marry a nice girl from a nice family. If Sam's honest with himself he might have hoped Brent for his own Brother in Law once Stacie's old enough. If Brent has his heart set on Miss Santana then there might not be any kind of chance for that to happen. But Sam will try to respect whatever Brent decides.

"So what were you doing?" He finally asks when he knows there's nothing else he can say.

"Sam you wouldn't believe. We spent the whole day together. We went into Hunna." He waves through Sam's obvious confusion. "It's just like Chinatown in San Francisco. Have you ever been there?" Brent is grinning like he's had the greatest day of his life and it only makes Sam more worried.

He has no doubt that this girl could ruin Brent. She still has a…job and if Brent is paying for entire days like this.

"That must have been expensive," Sam says, wincing at the intrusive question. He only wants to keep his friend safe.

Brent looks honestly confused but then his expression clears, ears turning crimson, "Oh, it's not like that Sam. Not at all. We spent time together like real friends. We are friends. Best friends." His eyes are sparkling. "I ate a cricket."

Sam can't hide the grimace. "Really Brent? A cricket."

Brent nods, the shine still in his eyes. "It didn't taste very good but it was worth it because Mike—that's Santana's friend—liked me straight away. Plus Santana had to cover her eyes and she's just so beautiful when she's being all nervous and trying to—"

"Right, I believe you," Sam interrupts with a genuine laugh. "It sounds like you had a great day."

"Sam, you have no idea," Brent sighs, starting to shift the piles of tin plates and cups into the main mess.

Sam stirs the ladle through the big pot of stew heating over the burner. He supposes he could get used to Santana. He might go have a talk with her first though. If Brent is going to marry her instead of Stacie then Sam feels he should probably make sure she is everything that Brent says she is.

— s — — b —

I let go of Quinn's legs and sit up to look at her. She's staring out the window and mumbling under her breath like Shelby does when she's going over the House numbers.

"Quinn, what is it?"

Quinn blinks and swallows before turning to me. "You were going to say 'she'." I can see the revelation in her eyes and my own panic builds. "And it's not the first time either."

I can feel my heart restart, skipping though a hundred beats a minute to make up for the ones I missed.

Quinn's eyes are wide and her smile is growing as she continues to put the pieces together. "That's why you haven't done anything. Not because Brent is a eunuch or anything else but because he's a—_she's_ a girl." Her eyes get impossibly wider as I put more space between us. "And you're in love with her."

I shake my head, unable to voice any reasonable denials.

"Yes you are, or you're at least getting there." Her eyes narrow again. "Oh my God. This is what all the drinking was about. I thought it was just me trying to forget but you're in exactly the same position." She lets out a sharp, humourless laugh. "Oh, what have we gotten ourselves into?"

I don't know what to say. My heart is beating too fast. I know that I can't deny it now. Quinn knows me too well.

"Please don't tell anyone," I say. My voice is a quivery, broken whisper but I know she's heard me.

"Sweetie no," she says, her eyes growing sad and caring as she pulls me back against her chest. "I won't tell anyone. Of course not."

I immediately burst into relieved tears, pulling at the front of her blouse(I really am a mess).

"You've got some explaining to do though," she laughs. "It's going to take so much to get me to forgive you Santana. You should have told me."

I mumble something into her chest about her not deserving the truth but even I don't really understand the garbled mess of words.

"Okay, Santana that's enough. I'm not here to watch you wallow in self pity and I'm not getting drunk with you again. I don't think either one of us has enough tears available for that."

I shove at her shoulder and pull myself away from her chest. I wipe the tears from my cheeks and give her a glare. "Only you would be so unsympathetic Fabray. Since you've been lying even more than I have. You know it wouldn't be that hard for me to go find the midget and tell her everything."

"And I'll go find Pierce's lieutenant. I'm sure he'd be very interested to know what his soldier's been hiding." She looks at me long enough for me to see that we have an understanding.

Neither of us would willingly tell each other's secrets unless it was to protect ourselves. Or I guess in my case, to protect Brittany.

She sighs and glances at her book as though she might go back to reading it. I really wouldn't put it past her to chose to ignore the situation. I would certainly be amenable to that scenario.

She turns back to me instead, her expression curious. "How long have you known? Did he—she just tell you and that's why you're crying?"

I think about lying, saying yes but it would be pointless. Even if Quinn believed me it wouldn't change anything. Quinn's confession of her real feelings for Rachel is what led me to understanding my own.

Quinn speaks again before I can, looking thoughtful, "No that's not right either is it."

I shake my head. "I've known since we met."

"All this time?" she asks confused. Then her eyes become wide as saucers. "So you did sleep with her?"

I shake my head again quickly. "No, not at all. We were both fully clothed the whole time. I just figured it out because I was—" I blush, thinking of that morning and admitting, "I was watching her sleep. I knew she was," I swallow a lump in my throat. "I knew she was too feminine, too beautiful to be a boy. Those hips…" I trail off thinking of Brittany's supple figure and the way I had pressed my lips to the skin of her hip; the way her hips move while she dances.

"Santana," Quinn calls my attention back with a click of her fingers. "Did I just lose you?" she asks seriously.

I blush so brightly that Quinn easily guesses the nature of my thoughts.

She laughs, "Okay, but what about Brent—or I guess not 'Brent'. What is —her name?"

I feel myself relaxing slightly as Quinn's tone becomes more curious than shocked. She's asking to understand, not to collect information to use against me.

I lean against the wall by my bed with a heavy sigh. "Her name is Brittany."

"So who's Brent?"

"Brent was her brother."

Quinn doesn't ask what happened to him. "And you're in love with or at least falling in love with her?" her expression is open, honest and even a little sentimental. As though she's asking for the details of a fairy tale.

I shrug, "I don't know," I start, then admit to Quinn and myself, "Yes. Yes I am."

"So why were you crying then. Does she know how you feel? Doesn't she feel the same way?"

I can see a hope in her eyes and I know she's thinking of Rachel.

"I don't know. Sometimes she looks at me and it's like—like I'm the most important person in the world. When we're together I feel important, special. To her if to no one else. And she's the only person I care about."

Quinn nods thoughtfully. "Have you told her?"

"Have you told Rachel?" I ask quickly, defensively as though Quinn had just openly called me a coward.

"I'm on your side Santana," Quinn snaps back, just as defensive.

I shuffle against the wall and cross my arms across my chest. "Right. Sorry." I say in clipped tones.

"That's okay," she replies in equal shortness.

"So now what do I do?" I ask her.

She laughs. "Do you think if I had an answer to that question I'd be sitting here talking to you?" she raises one perfect Fabray eyebrow.

"I guess not," I mumble.

"Well I can tell you one thing for sure. I always knew that boy was at least a little bit in love with you and I'm completely certain that this girl is as well."

I try to absorb her words instead of automatically dismissing them. They give me hope and I feel my heart squeeze tightly in my chest.

— s — — b —

Brittany continues to dish out everyones meals, trying her hardest to appear just content with her work rather than blissfully happy as she is. Brittany's resolution to tell Santana; her trust that things will work out how they should has left her feeling light and happy for the first time in forever. It wouldn't do her any good for the rest of the men to know that though. She knows how spiteful Karofsky can be and the continued pain of her ribs is an ever present reminder.

As if responding to her thoughts, Karofsky appears next in her queue.

"Hey Pierce, I heard you got put on light duties for the week," he sneers openly making no effort to take the plate Brittany holds out to him.

"You're holding up the line Karofsky," Brittany says, trying to sound more confident than she is.

Karofsky turns in to the line of people behind him and Brittany has to crane around his huge form to see that the men standing directly behind him were all involved in her beating. She can't help the lump of fear in her throat. She swallows but tries to stand firm.

"I think maybe, they're not all that worried. Maybe they're more worried about catching prissy from your girly little hands Pierce." He practically spits into her face.

Brittany doesn't have a response for him and she's honestly too terrified to do or say much of anything. She can feel the metal of the ladle cutting into her hand where she is gripping it so tightly. She tries to think of Santana who usually fills her with a calm confidence. It's not enough, all she can think of is how much bigger Karofsky is than both of them. Brittany couldn't protect either of them from him and the thought of Karofsky hurting Santana makes her blood turn to ice.

"What's going on here?" Sam has left his station and is at her side glaring Karofsky down.

"Nothing that's any of your business Evens." Karofsky growls, looking very put off by Sam's sudden appearance.

"Oh really because it looks like you're getting pretty aggressive with my friend Brent here and I don't think I like that very much." His words are casual but his voice is firm and laced with just a hint of a threat.

Brittany prays that Karofsky will just back down. Attacking her in the middle of the night with a group of men isn't exactly the actions of a brave man but he's still a man with a notoriously short fuse. Jumping her and Sam in the middle of the mess wouldn't be the most intelligent move either but then Karofsky isn't known for his sparkling wit.

Karofsky seems to struggle for a moment looking between Sam and Brittany. "You need to find some better friends Evans," he says. There's almost a soft ernest quality to his voice but it's gone when he turns to Brittany. "You better watch it Pierce or you won't even be able to hold a soup spoon next time."

He snatches the plate from Brittany and walks away. Sam is quick to pry the ladle from Brittany's grip and finish dishing out the stew to the rest of the waiting men. He glares darkly at the first four, knowing that they must be the ones that beat Brittany.

Brittany just stares into the big pot until there's nothing left and Sam is handing her a plate and spoon of her own.

"So they're the ones that attacked you?" he asks.

Brittany still doesn't say anything so Sam rearranges their plates so he can take Brittany's arm and guide her deeper into the tent. He forces her to take a seat by the potatoes and then drops the plate in front of her.

"Eat this," he says almost dismissively.

Brittany looks up at his cold tone.

"You should have told me Brent."

Brittany shakes her head, "And what good would that have done? They're still in the Camp, I still would have been there with a soup spoon in my hand and no way to defend myself." Brittany feels the quiver in her voice but she won't cry. She won't be that weak.

"What do you mean? No one could go up against those guys by themselves."

"But even just Karofsky. He's so big and I'm just…" she gestures hopelessly at herself to explain. She feels like some weak little girl and it bothers her so much.

"He's bigger than me too."

"But you aren't afraid of him."

"Sure I am but I don't have to deal with the bruises he's left on me. It's easy to pretend without that."

Brittany understands but, "What if I can't protect her?" she asks.

"Who—"

"Santana. I'm not strong enough. If she needs me and I can't—If I can't…" she can't bring herself to say or even think of any more specific dangers she'd be helpless against.

"She isn't your responsibility Brent," Sam says.

Brittany fixes him with a withering glare.

"Okay fine," Sam says quickly. "You care for her and want to keep her safe. I get it."

"That's all I want," Brittany says. "But I just don't know how I can do that."

Sam frowns at her, contemplative. "Well you can start by eating this," he says pushing the plate into her chest. "And you can be stronger if that's what you want."

Brittany takes the spoon and stirs the contents of her plate. "But I always eat this stuff. It doesn't make any difference."

"Then we'll figure something else out okay. You're already one of the bravest men I know Brent. The best, you just need the brawn to back that up. I'll help you if that's what you want."

Brittany finally takes a spoon of stew and swallows it down quickly. "Thanks Sam. I'd like that."

Sam picks up his own stew and starts to wolf it down hungrily. "Miss Santana won't even recognise you."

Brittany's eyes widen in alarm. "But I want her to know who I am."

Sam shakes his head with a laugh and pats her hard on the back. "She will."

— s — — b —

We can hear people moving around on the street outside and a holler rings out along with a gunshot. Quinn sighs, knowing as well as I do the sounds of prospectors that just came into some gold. I guess tomorrow night will be busy after all.

Quinn looks like she's about to ask me something but is interrupted by the door opening. I expect to find Sugar or Mercedes but instead Shelby is leaning against the doorframe looking at us expectantly.

"There's fresh meat out in the Saloon girls," she says waving a hand out into the hall. "I expect you to be out there."

I stare at Shelby trying to understand her words.

"A group of them have come in off the hills with a good haul and they're looking to spend it here _tonight._ I need you both out there," she explains.

Quinn nods and begins to redress herself for the saloon.

I know I should be following Quinn's lead but I don't. I feel an anger boil up inside of me. I can't go out there now. Not after the day I had with Brittany. Not after everything I just admitted to Quinn. It isn't fair.

"If this is a punishment for drinking your Scotch last night Shelby I—"

"This is no such thing Santana," she says quickly. "I expect you to pay for that scotch so there's no need for any kind of punishment. But I do expect you to do your job. Remember your job Santana? I know you've been wrapped up in that Pierce boy all day but I'm sure you haven't completely forgotten what it is we do here."

I look down, feeling appropriately chastised. I haven't forgotten. I can't and I'm sure Brittany knows as well, even if she doesn't say anything. I force myself from my bed and gather up my abandoned clothes.

The corset seems to pinch more than usual as I get the clasps fixed down the front. It's not worth thinking over as I pull my skirt over my hips. I put the beige blouse to one side thinking of how Brittany had seemed to like it(there was nothing more than a few light touches but enough to make me believe it).

I finish dressing in time to follow Quinn out to the Saloon. Some of the other girls are already there and more follow behind us. Kurt is behind the bar and Shelby nods for me to join him. I see her making subtle gestures to indicate where each of the girls and the few boys should go. Harmony and Avery are already leading a Trick upstairs.

Kurt makes eye contact with Shelby and nods to where Rachel is sitting in the corner with that notebook in her hand. Shelby moves quickly, grabbing Rachel's elbow and guiding the short girl into her office. I snort, assuming that Shelby probably doesn't want Rachel in amongst this crowd. Things can get a little rough on nights like this. When a group of prospectors hit a pocket of gold or silver they can get a little enthusiastic about life. Often times that enthusiasm becomes aggressive under the influence of some good whiskey. And Corcorans serves some very good whiskey.

The energy in the saloon is already tense, and a little overwhelming. The sudden influx of girls probably didn't help any. I see Quinn grimace as a younger looking man with greying bristles on his chin grabs her arse and kisses her cheek. Quinn, the picture of professionalism turns the grimace into a winning smile and begins the game of flirting him into a room for the night.

As the Wheel of Chance spins to life a few men cheer and the gaming tables become as busy as the bar where I'm handing out shot after shot of whiskey(and charging well for it). The line to the cashier is long with several men already setting up accounts. Normally Shelby has to talk men into opening accounts so she'll be pleased with this turn out. These men must really have struck it lucky.

I keep pouring drinks, smiling and flirting over the bar. Kurt and I have developed a good rhythm of swapping ends and I receive a friendly hip bump on every other pass. I wink at Kurt and receive and a mimed smooch in return. I kiss my hand and blow it back to him as I grab for a fresh bottle.

When I turn back to the bar there's a man waiting that is starting to become familiar. He's been strutting back and forth between betting at the roulette table and drinking at the bar. He's been having better luck at the bar than the wheel but it doesn't seem to matter since all the men in the room defer to him. He's obviously someone with a bit of importance. He's dressed in finer clothes than the rest and carries the air of importance that those with a small measure if power tend to effect.

He looks like he could be up for a night with me and I still have Shelby's words repeating in my mind, 'I'm sure you haven't completely forgotten what it is we do here'.

"Another one?" I ask, lining up the bottle with his glass.

He nods and takes up his drink, smirking over the brim. "You know, I heard you Corcorans girls were the best there is in this spit of a town."

I'm in no mood to entertain this flea-ridden ass but I have little choice since the other men at the bar are already cradling drinks.

I lean back and look at him with my own cocky expression. "The best in this whole territory," I lift one eyebrow provocatively. "You think you have what it takes?" It's the usual question, the usual challenge that has men tripping over themselves to bed at least one of Shelby's girls.

"Joshua Coleman, at your service."

"Let me guess. You're in charge of this…group," I try to sound impressed I really do but I'm sure it comes out sounding more than a little derisive.

He either doesn't notice or doesn't care. "My father bank rolled this expedition so yeah, I am."

I can't help but roll my eyes. "I'm sure it takes a great _man_ to spend a Father's money."

"Oh you're one of those feisty fillies," he says with a laugh at my tone. "That's okay with me," he says with a self important shrug. "I'm sure I can _break_ you."

He's disgusting and I wish this was the first time I'd heard something like this. It's not. Most of the time men like this are complete Momma's boys and all it takes is half a blow job for them to be crying into my skirts. Knowing this and listening to the words without slapping him are two very different things.

Thankfully Kurt appears beside me before I can do anything stupid.

"How about I top you up?" Kurt says to the idiot, bumping me out of the way at the hip.

I gladly accept the interference and practically run to the other end of the bar. On my next pass Coleman is gone. Kurt squeezes my shoulder reassuringly and I hope that I didn't look as angry and unsettled as I feel.

I have a few shots as I work. That's the best thing about being behind the bar on nights like these, someone is always buying an extra shot. One of the worst things is when a fight breaks out between two of the prospectors. The fight doesn't last long tonight since Shane, the mountain of a man Shelby hires for his muscle was already waiting quietly on the edge of the room. If any of the brawling men take issue with being handled by a negro they choose not to say anything.

I see Shelby join Shane when he comes back to stand at his post by the wall. She thanks him with a hand on his shoulder. Shelby's smile goes from warm to businesslike quickly when another man approaches her. He's substantially shorter than Shelby and I smirk when I see him obviously trying his best to appear taller.

I'm less amused when he turns around and I see Joshua Coleman again. I'd honestly hoped he'd been one of the brawlers taken outside. Of course he's not quite stupid enough for that. He gestures to me as he's talking to Shelby who makes eye contact with me across the room. Shelby nods and says something more. I feel my skin itch. I know what they're discussing and I don't like it at all.

It's an unfamiliar notion, this reluctance to work. I've never shied away from a trick before. I take pride in my work and I know I'm good at it. Considering where I could be right now, I'm very lucky to have Shelby as a boss. I'm lucky not to be going hungry. Yesterday my work at Corcorans was simple. Today just the notion of bedding this self important ass turns my stomach.

I know what the difference is. It's obvious really, even if I don't want to think about it. Brittany knows what I do. She hasn't ever asked me to explain. She hasn't asked me to stop and I know she wouldn't. She understands—even if she doesn't yet know the details—that I don't have a choice.

I try to rearrange my expression to one of polite interest rather than disgust as Shelby guides Coleman back towards the bar. I walk around to the other side, knowing exactly what they're after.

"Santana, I think you've already met Mr Coleman here." Shelby is giving me a look as if daring me to refuse this.

I swallow my pride and defer to her. She has every right to expect this from me.

"Of course, Mr Coleman," I nod toward him, returning to my professional demeanour. I can do this.

"You can call me Joshua, little one." His eyes linger far longer than necessary on my breasts as he looks me over. I feel like a prize pony being inspected.

I fix my smile in place. "Are we going upstairs then Joshua?"

I hold out my hand so he can offer his arm. He dresses like he has been taught manners but he obviously chooses not to use them as he grabs at my wrist instead. He pulls me toward the stairs without bothering to acknowledge Shelby who is already gaining the attention of another girl to take my place at the bar.

He doesn't know where he's going but he pretends to anyway. I do my best to guide him up the stairs and toward an unoccupied room. Before we disappear I catch a glimpse of Shelby, Quinn and Kurt all watching me from different parts of the saloon.

I don't have time to think about what it means as Joshua pulls my wrist hard enough to hurt and pushes the door shut behind him.

"How do you lock this door?" He asks me, finally releasing my wrist to examine the door.

"You don't," I say quickly, trying to subdue the bubble of fear in my chest.

He's just another Trick. He's not important. He's just a means to an end, a tool, a cog in the economic machine. He pays the House and we stay in business.

It doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. I don't matter.

I don't even realise that I'm backing away from him until my back hits the wall. He wedges a chair under the handle of the door before he turns and stalks toward me. I try to smile as if I'm not horrified by what I know happens next. He smiles back as though knowing exactly how much I don't want to do this.

"What happened little one? Not so feisty now we're here?" He sneers.

I swallow, trying desperately to find the confidence that usually comes so easily. I think back to my very first Trick. Shelby had gone through everything at length with Quinn and I. We'd arrived within days of each other and I was glad for a learning companion even if we still had to tackle our tricks individually. Shelby had wanted us to be prepared so we were well schooled in theory before we were ever put in a room. She told us that we always had the power. No matter what happens, no matter what the Trick thinks, we are the ones in charge.

Now this man is looking at me like he has the power, like he has the control. The awful truth, is that he does. For the first time since I was fifteen years old I have handed my control over to a man and I don't know what to do.

He leans in to kiss me and his dark eyes contrast against the blue ones in my mind. I turn my face away and the rough skin of his cheek brushes my jaw, making me flinch. He kisses my neck and tries to press his body against mine but my hands come up automatically to press against his chest.

He laughs. The bastard laughs and grabs at my wrists to pin them against the wall. There's a muffled thud as his fists make contact with the plaster. He leans back to look at me and forces me to look at him as he grinds his hardness into me. Everything feels wrong. The professional detachment that had been so easy to maintain has been dismantled and I'm feeling _everything._

I swallow a lump of fear as he goes back to pressing his dry lips against my neck. The abhorrence for what is happening overwhelms me and I close my eyes to try and block him out. It doesn't work.

I muster my strength and push against him. He's just distracted enough that I can push past him. I panic when I see the chair still wedged against the door and I scramble to put the bed between us. My heart is thudding in my chest and I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

He's in front of me again before I can blink.

"Crying now?" he sneers as he grabs my shoulder and hip so I can't turn away from him. "What kind of whore are you?"

I try to push at him with my hands but he just pushes me to the bed. I fall back hard enough that the frame rattles against the wall. He climbs on after me and straddles my thighs. He grabs at both my hands with one of his so he can reach down with the other and pull up my skirt. I reach out desperately for anything to use against him but can only reach the small table beside the bed. All I manage to do is knock the lamp to the floor.

— s — — b —

Shelby watches the crowd slowly thin out as girls take their Tricks upstairs and the men remaining get lost in their glasses. Kurt has already left bottles with a few and she can't help but wonder what they're trying to forget.

Shelby hears a sound from the rooms upstairs and she makes eye contact with Shane where he stands discreetly by the bottom of the stairs. He's there to keep the girls safe and to collect money from any men who think they can get away without paying the House. Right now the first of his duties is the more important. While thumps, groans and yelps are all perfectly normal in this business you tend to develop a keen ear for which sounds belong and which ones don't.

Just like you can get an idea about a man from a short conversation. That Coleman man for example seemed a little off but Shelby mostly ignored the feeling. She figured on Santana being able to handle him. She's a good girl. But the look on her face as she led Mr Coleman upstairs was a little unsettling.

The look Shelby exchanged with Quinn from across the room all but confirmed her suspicions. Shelby looks at Quinn now to see if she heard the noise as well. She's with a trick who seems to be negotiating on price. He must be pushing too hard since Quinn is still downstairs.

Shelby hears another thump from upstairs then the sound of something breaking and Shane is already on the move. She quickly follows him up the stairs and knows that Quinn will be close behind. She's sure the sound came from the room Santana is working in.

Shelby's heart nearly stops when she sees Shane pushing at the door with no response. These doors don't lock which means that Mr Coleman must have jammed it shut from the inside.

"Break it down," she says without hesitation.

Shane lays his shoulder into the timber and she hears what must be a chair falling away from the door with broken cracks. The door swings open and she sees Josh on top of Santana who is crying and pushing against his chest. Her skirts are caught up around her waist and Coleman's belt is loose.

"What's going on here?" Coleman demands, releasing Santana's hands and pushing away from the bed.

Santana immediately scrambles away to huddle against the wall furthest from the enraged man.

Shelby is not intimidated for a second. "I'm quite sure that's my exact question Mr Coleman. Why is one of my girls crying and why is one of my favourite lamps broken on the ground?"

He looks down at the broken debris of an utterly inconsequential lamp scattered about his feet.

"That bitch wouldn't do what I've paid her to do. I had to—"

"You had to nothing Mr Coleman," Shelby states plainly in a tone that brooks no argument. "I think our business is done for this evening. You can receive a refund from the cashier downstairs. Minus the cost of the lamp."

He wants to argue of course but Shane is beside him in an instant looking thoroughly threatening. It's always unusual to see the normally gentle man looking so dangerous but Shelby pays no mind as Coleman tightens his belt and straightens his shirt.

"This isn't the end of this conversation Ms Corcoran." He says with a distinct threat in his voice.

Shelby nods solemnly, "I understand Mr Coleman and you are welcome to come see me during office hours. Good night."

He disappears through the door with Shane close behind. Quinn appears almost instantly and her eyes search out Santana who's huddled in the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped defensively around herself. Quinn rushes to the crying girls side.

"What happened Santana?" she asks, reaching out to rub down her back.

Santana flinches and curls more into herself mumbling something that Shelby doesn't hear. Quinn retracts her hand and looks up at Shelby.

"We have to get Pierce," she says seriously.

"No, absolutely not," Shelby says instantly. "No, I won't let her get any more attached than she already is. If he comes in here when she's like this…"

"Don't be cruel Shelby, no one else is going to do her any good right now. It's either Pierce or Beiste with a sedative." She's staring at shelby in a way the older woman hasn't seen from her before.

Shelby knows about Quinn's dependency on the opium but she doesn't really know how Quinn feels about her own situation. What Shelby does know is that she wouldn't suggest a tincture for Santana lightly. The word 'cruel' does happen to cut deep as well.

"Fine," Shelby says just as Kurt arrives beside her.

Quinn nods her thanks then turns to Kurt, "Go find Pierce, Kurt. He needs to be here."

"What? Why, what happened?" Kurt asks, totally bewildered by the shivering mass that looks and sounds so much like Santana Lopez but nothing like her at all.

"Just go Kurt," Shelby says. "And take Shane with you. I don't trust these soldier boys with any of you."

Kurt nods, only pausing to look at Santana one more time before he is out the door.

— s — — b —

Brittany recognises the pretty young man from Corcorans, Kurt first. Sam is leading him along with a tall black man straight to her and she feels a lurch of panic in her gut. She doesn't need Sam's hurried words to know.

"It's Santana, you need to get to Corcorans now."

Brittany is already running.

— s — — b —

"Santana?" Brittany calls out as soon as she is through the door to Corcorans. She sees Ms Corcoran at the top of the stairs.

"Where is she?" she demands immediately. Her breath is coming in short gasps and she's clutching at her ribs that are spiking with pain.

"Pierce, I need you to—"

"No, you need to tell me where she is now!" Brittany demands, angry and loud enough to make a girl nearby her jump.

"She's upstairs in the third room down the hall but if you do her any more harm," Shelby leaves the threat hanging but Brittany barely registers it as she leaps up the stairs three at a time.

All she heard was that Santana might be hurt and she needs to know how and by whom so she can hunt them down and hurt them right back. She brushes past Ms Corcoran and rushes to where Quinn is apparently standing guard outside a closed door.

"Is she inside?" Brittany asks in a rushed but quiet voice, worried that her anger could frighten Santana.

Quinn nods. "Yes she's inside," she says pressing a hand against Brittany's sternum to stop her going any further. "She's physically fine but she needs you to understand Brittany."

It takes a few moments for Brittany to fully register that Quinn had used her real name. It's a strange notion that her own name could sound so foreign. It never seems strange when Santana calls her Brittany.

Brittany doesn't know what to say but Quinn saves her from having to respond. "It's okay, no one will hear about it from me," she says with reassuring smile.

Brittany nods and returns her attention to the closed door. She could swear she heard Santana inside. "Thank you Quinn. And thank you for getting me here." She knows it must have been her.

Quinn nods and steps out of her way. Brittany is through the door in an instant. She surveys the room. The blankets on the bed have obviously been disturbed. There's the broken pieces of a lamp and what must have been a wooden chair swept into one corner. Santana is in the opposite corner with her back to the wall and her knees pulled up to her chest. She looks up when Brittany opened the door and there are tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, San," she mumbles. "What happened?"

Santana just shakes her head and drops her face back onto her hands where they're resting against her knees. Brittany crosses the room and drops down to her knees beside her. She reaches out a hand to gently lay it against a quivering shoulder. It hurts when Santana flinches but she tries not to take it personally.

Brittany reaches out again and this time Santana must be more prepared for it because she doesn't flinch away. She leans into the touch instead and Brittany stretches her hand out further to brush over Santana's back and shoulder.

Santana's tears slow and she finally looks up to see Brittany.

"I'm so sorry Sweets, I—"

"No, don't apologise San. Ever," she says firmly.

She stands in front of Santana and takes both hands into her own. Brittany's glad when Santana lets herself be pulled to her feet and into Brittany's arms. They don't say anything else as Brittany just holds Santana in her arms, her hands rubbing comforting circles across her back.

"It's okay Santana, I'm here. It's okay." All of Brittany's words are low, warm and comforting as she does her best to just help Santana feel safe.

Santana has her face pressed into her neck so Brittany doesn't understand the words at first.

"What do you need San?"

Santana draws back just enough to be heard. "Can we go somewhere else Sweets?"

Brittany doesn't know if there will be any other rooms free but she doesn't hesitate to answer yes. "Of course, we'll find something."

She draws Santana away from the corner and back to the door where Quinn is waiting patiently.

"What do you need?" Quinn asks straight away and Brittany is glad Santana has a friend like her.

"Another room," Brittany says simply, not bothering with any explanation.

Quinn nods then scans the hall. "This way," she says, leading the way to another blank door.

Brittany doesn't try to guess how they can tell one room from another she just nods her thanks and guides Santana inside to the bed. Quinn closes the door behind them and Brittany is glad since Santana seems reluctant to let her go.

Looking down at her Brittany is momentarily distracted by how beautiful Santana is even when she's broken. She can't be distracted though. Santana needs her as a friend. Brittany will be the best person that she can be. Santana deserves the best, always.

Brittany hasn't forgotten her resolution to tell Santana the truth but she doesn't know if now is the right time. Quinn had Brittany brought here because she is the only one that can help Santana. It warms Brittany's heart to know that she is Santana's person, the one that she trusts. She doesn't know what happened in that room but she'll be here for Santana no matter what. Whoever hurt Santana doesn't matter right now. Brittany can deal with them later.

She settles for wrapping her arms around Santana as tightly as possible and kissing the top of her head. She doesn't smell like the clearing anymore but she still smells like Santana. Brittany feels an odd comfort and she does what she can to share that with Santana.

Santana clutches at her shirt for a long time but Brittany doesn't mind. She will hold Santana for as long as she needs. Finally Santana leans back to look at Brittany who gives her a small smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Brittany asks.

Santana shakes her head. "I'm sorry Brittany, I shouldn't have brought you here."

"Stop apologising. I just want to be here for you. It's practically selfish," she jokes.

"But it's true. You deserve better. You showed me a beautiful place today and this is how I repay you?" There's a conflict in her eyes, in her whole posture as she chews on her lip. "I drag you in here and make you comfort me because I don't know how to do my j—job anymore." She seems to be talking to herself as much as to Brittany.

There's a war being fought behind her eyes and Brittany starts to feel nervous watching it. "It's alright San. I want to be here with you."

"Oh really? Do you even know what it is we do here?" Santana's voice is bitter and sounds like she's using someone else's words.

Brittany frowns at the question. "Of course." She doesn't like that Santana has to be with men in that way but she knows why things have to stay the way they are for right now. "Knowing that you have the strength to be here to do this and still smile. It's just another thing that I—"

"That you what? That you're disgusted by? You should be you know. Disgusted, appalled, repulsed."

"Please stop this Santana." Brittany holds Santana's hands gently, pleading with her.

"Maybe you should just go," Santana says in a low, devastated murmur.

Brittany can't believe what she's hearing. "But I want to be here—"

"And why is that?" Santana is becoming the hurt kind of angry. "What can I possibly offer you? What do you want from me?"

"I don't understand Santana. You've given me so much how can you possibly—"

"How can I possibly say that?" she scoffs. "How can you?" she pushes Brittany's hands away and steps away from the bed.

Brittany is standing just as quickly but keeps a distance between them as she tries to understand. "Why are you saying these things Santana? You know I'm your friend, that I care about you. I missed you so much when I couldn't visit you. I know you did too," she mumbles through the last words.

Santana hesitates hearing the hurt in Brittany's voice.

"Please don't push me away now." Brittany's voice is soft and ernest. "I can't think of anything but you."

Santana's face falls, the anger fading. "Please Brittany, don't," she pleads. "I'm not worth any of it. You—you deserve more than I can give you."

"I don't want anything but you!" she yells. Brittany is so exasperated that her voice and words run away from her.

She claps a hand to her mouth. She's shouted and she feels terrible. The shocked look on Santana's face makes her feel even worse.

"I'm sorry," she sighs, dropping her hand. "I shouldn't have yelled," she clears her throat self consciously but won't be diverted as she explains. This is her moment. "I want you." She pauses feeling like the fervent passions rising in her chest could rip her apart if she doesn't express some measure of them right now. "More than anything else in this world." She feels the tears well in her eyes but refuses to let them fall. "I want you," she repeats with a nod of confident finality.

She lets out a relieved sigh. She's finally said it and there is no way she could or would ever take it back now. No matter what Santana might feel in return.

Santana's eyes are bright with tears. She stares resolutely at the floor long enough that Brittany wonders if she shouldn't just leave after all.

Finally Santana speaks in a low voice that Brittany would have missed if she hadn't been so exclusively focused on hearing her answer. "I want you too."

Brittany thinks her ears must be broken, "What? You—huh?"

Santana scowls at the floor for a moment before returning that piercing gaze to Brittany, "I don't want any trick or any man. I just want you," her face falls further and the first tear finally escapes her determined hold. She swipes it away quickly as she continues, "I—I'm just afraid of what it means. I'm afraid of what people will say if they know. If they can see what you mean to me," she shakes her head as though the thought haunts her.

Brittany wants to comfort her, to wrap her arms around the broken girl and never let go. She settles for moving as close to Santana as she can without actually touching her. "But you are so strong Santana. I know that whatever happens, even if the whole town found out tomorrow then you—we will survive it. You would kick their asses into next week and I would be there to hold your bag." Brittany forces a smile to show that she is joking—mostly.

Santana finally smiles, even allowing a chuckle at Brittany's foolishness as she swipes the dampness away from her cheek. "Yeah, well." she rolls her eyes at her own tears as she gives another sniffle.

Brittany tugs Santana's arm away from where it is wrapped defensively around her waist. She holds Sanatana's hand securely in both of her own, "So what I'm getting from this is," she looks up to the ceiling in search of the words. "I want you," she looks back into Santana's eyes. "And y-you want me," she stutters over the words that she still feels are wholly unbelievable.

Santana visibly swallows her tears in an effort to collect herself before she nods. Brittany's heart leaps and she can feel the grin spreading across her face.

Santana looks into her eyes begging for something Brittany doesn't quite understand yet, "But what does this mean?"

Brittany smiles, "Well I think it means that _anything_ is possible" she steps even closer to Santana. So close that Brittany can feel Santana's warm breath against her neck. "And in that spirit. I would very much like to kiss you now."

Brittany is close enough to feel the way that Santana freezes, even her breathing stopped.

Brittany holds still, not wanting to startle her. "I won't make you do anything," she promises softly. "I won't push you." Her heart beats impossibly faster as Santana hesitates.

Brittany can feel the quiet of the room threatening to consume them both in nervous energy until finally—finally Santana gives the tiniest of nods.

Brittany feels as though she could float on air, her heart, her body feels so light as she leans in so her lips barely brush against Santana's. Her nose grazes Santana's but she won't push any further.

Santana seems to hesitate for a terrifying beat.

Then Brittany feels fingers tangling into her hair and Santana is pulling their lips together, deep and frantic.

Their bodies come together like the most perfectly matched puzzle pieces and they both smile into the kiss as Santana's arms collapse around Brittany's shoulders. Brittany feels light headed and grounded, sure and dizzy, lost and found all at once. The feel of Santana's lips pressed neatly against her own is as beautiful as any sunrise, and as perfectly perfect as any wishing place she could possibly imagine.

Santana giggles as Brittany's arms wrap tightly around her waist, lifting her feet from the floor and spinning her in their own euphoric dance.

When she finally settles Santana back on her feet, Brittany only draws back far enough to press her lips to Santana's once more. Santana rocks up on her toes to press her own kiss to Brittany's lips and her eyes flutter shut. She sinks back down so her feet are flat to the floor and Brittany follows after her. She rests her forehead against Santana's and takes in a deep breath.

"My Santana," she sighs as she feels Santana merge through and around all her senses(around her heart).

Santana's eyes open and she smiles the most beautiful, blinding smile Brittany has ever seen.

"My Brittany," she sighs through her smile.

Brittany laughs at the echoed words then pulls Santana back to her so she can spin them around some more. Santana holds on for all she is worth, and Brittany feels like they need never let go again.


	16. Can She?

AN: Okay, so I had a whole direction planned out for this chapter with plot progression and everything. This came out instead. No content warnings here unless you don't like reading about two girls making out(In which case GTFO now. Just go). More plot and drama next chapter. There's a time shift at the beginning of this chapter and then the story comes back in just before where I left off the last chapter with Santana's perspective instead of Brittany's.

* * *

Lima, Ohio 1875

A strange man's hand rests heavily on my shoulder. The calluses on his stubby fingers brush over the sensitive skin and send a shiver up my spine. I resist the urge to shrug him off. With my father dead in the coffin at the front of the room this man is the one to take care of me now. My father trusted Ken Tenaka so I guess I should too. But I don't like the way he looks at me. I certainly don't like the way he says my name or the way his eyes linger just a little too long.

The only thing that keeps me from running are words that shouldn't really be a comfort at all. "You're so much like your mother," he says. "If only you were a little older."

Those are the words he uses. A little older. Simple little words really, but I understand enough to know what he means. What he really means is 'when'. When I'm a little older. I don't know what old enough will be for him.

I face the front of the room trying to look somber rather than terrified. The minister's voice is weak and thin, crackling like tissue paper. Random words break through the haze so I hear words about Hell and life, God and Heaven. It's all meaningless really. Papá hadn't been to mass since Mamá died and I know he doesn't believe in God anymore. He never said anything to me about it and he never told me not to listen to Mrs Wilson's prayers. But I know what he did or didn't believe.

I look down the rows of people and see Tommy standing next to his father. I'm glad that they're both here. Papá held a stern kind of respect for Mr Wilson so I know he would want the man here for his funeral. I also know that Tommy will do what he can to help me forget about my pain. I feel no urge to wallow in grief and Tommy is always there for me in his own way.

I don't know what kind of prayer Mrs Wilson would send up if she knew Tommy and I were going to be getting drunk instead of attending Papá's wake. It doesn't really matter. If she had any idea of the other things Tommy and I would be doing, deep in the fields of the Wilson's farm there wouldn't be a prayer fervent enough.

Tommy catches my eye and gives me a small smile. I feel a measure of comfort in the fact that it's genuine. Tommy has developed this way of smirking at me that I tend to hate. Especially since I let him touch me. The quickest and easiest way to get rid of that cocky smile is to touch him right back but I haven't decided whether I like doing that yet.

I eventually let Tommy kiss me again after the first time. It took me a while to not associate his kiss with the pain of my broken arm but his persistence eventually paid off. I let him kiss me and eventually even kissed him back. By my thirteenth birthday Tommy's chaste kisses became something more insistent. He would pull me into dark corners where nobody could see us and press his lips and eventually his whole body against mine. I followed his lead for the most part. I didn't necessarily understand but it felt good to be desired. Even if Tommy was still just a stupid boy.

With the minister's voice rustling between us I try to smile back at him, feeling a single, hot tear run down my cheek. I hadn't even realised the tears were gathering before that. When Mr Wilson shifts in the seat beside him Tommy gives a small nod and returns his gaze to the front .

The service drags on and on. No one else cries, although there are a few men looking very close to tears. Their stoic expressions are a solid mask against their grief. There is a strong possibility that they knew my father better than I did. He was a much harder man after Mamá passed and the older I got, the harder it seemed for him to be able to even look at me. I guess it's because I really do look like Mamá. Despite the distance between us I know he's a good, well respected man. Or he was before he took a mule's kick to the chest(a pointless death if ever there was one). He managed the farm for twelve years and worked for the Wilson's for a long time before that.

His friend Mr Tenaka worked closely with him for many years and his voice is almost as familiar to me as Papá's. He and my father spent many nights around the fire with the other men from the farm talking and laughing. I miss Papá's laugh already. I miss his voice and I miss the comfort of his arms(as rarely as he allowed an embrace). He was the only family I had left.

I hope that Papá is happy wherever he is now. If he does somehow meet Mamá again in whatever place comes after dying I know he will be.

The service comes to an end eventually. I don't really understand what the signal for the end is because I'm not paying attention but suddenly both of Mr Tenaka's hands are heavy on my shoulders and his hot breath surrounds my name at the shell of my ear.

I try to keep the grimace hidden as he guides me from the church.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

I thought that getting to touch brittany was an incredible gift. Actually kissing her is almost beyond what my mind is currently capable of understanding. I don't ever want to stop kissing her or touching her and if she stops touching me I think I might actually die.

It occurs to me now that since the day we met we have always been touching or holding one another. It's difficult to understand why it took so long for us to get to this point. Brittany's lips fit so perfectly against mine. How did we waste so much time _not_ doing this?

Her nose nudges against mine and the angle of our kiss shifts and deepens. I love the taste of her, the smell and the feel of her as she presses against me. Her body is warm against mine, firm and supple and delicious. Her hands at my waist send shivers along the surface of my skin. My own fingers find the fine hairs at the back of her neck. I wonder idly what happened to her cap but forget any concern when her tongue flicks out against my lip. I don't know if it's an accident so I just keep kissing her and hope that she does it again.

Eventually Brittany draws back and I let her, wanting to see those beautiful blue eyes again. She smiles _that_ smile and I push up on my toes needing to be that much closer to her when I kiss her again. It's a light pressing of our lips but it sends a thrill through my body. She leans down to nudge her forehead against mine and I revel in the reminder of that time in our clearing. Every moment I've had with Brittany that has lead to this one is clear and beautiful in my mind.

She calls me hers and the thrill I felt at hearing those words the first time is nothing compared to what I feel now. I think it's only fair to give her the same gift in return.

"My Brittany," I say, _loving_ the sound of those words in my own voice almost as much as the sound of my name on her lips.

Brittany laughs delighted with, well, me and it makes me grin foolishly. I am a fool for her. My heart jumps and that expansive feeling in my chest is so big I think I could float away at any moment. The sweetness I feel at seeing her blissful smile directed at me is completely intoxicating.

I giggle then squeal as my feet leave the floor again with Brittany spinning us in quick, tight circles. I grip at her neck, not wanting to ever let her go. She lets my feet land after a few more spins and I know I'll have to let go eventually but I choose not to think about that right now. Especially with Brittany's hands drifting down to hold against my hips. She doesn't stop smiling as she kisses my cheek, then my jaw and—my hips twitch forward against her hands at the contact—the skin of my neck just below my ear. She nuzzles at my hair and I remember all of the times she'd done that before without my really noticing.

We have wasted so much time.

I sigh, "Why didn't you tell me before?" I ask, hardly needing an answer.

Brittany's right hand drifts up my side, past my ribs and skates past the outside edge of my breast(I shiver). She traces her fingertips over my bare shoulder and along my arm to my wrist which is still draped around her neck. I think she must have forgotten my question as she pulls my arm from her neck.

Her eyes find mine in a piercing look as she presses her lips to my wrist. "I wanted to," she says quietly before pressing another hot kiss to a different point on my wrist.

I blink at her for a moment, barely remembering to breath. "Uh, for how long?" I ask. The breathiness in my voice is a direct result of the things Brittany is doing with her lips.

With the way Brittany's gaze burns into mine I might have worried that I'd never get to see her bashful smile again. I needn't have worried though as her cheeks glow pink in a way I adore even as she keeps pressing light kisses against the sensitive underside of my arm.

She releases my wrist and I let my hand slide down to cup her cheek. My other hand is still playing against the fine hairs hidden under the braid on the back of her neck.

She leans into the touch as she replies bashfully, "Since the first night you kissed me."

It's my turn to feel my face heat as I remember that night. She really has wanted me that whole time? Did she understand what her feelings were? She is a more aware person than I am clearly but I already knew that. I should have known then too of course. It's just that even the notion of this was not something that fit into my understanding of myself or the world.

"I'm sorry," I say.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" she asks pushing her fingers into my hair and against my scalp.

"It took me so long to figure out what…" I trail off, not sure exactly how to explain plus more than a little distracted by the feeling of her fingers in my hair.

Brittany shakes her head with a light chuckle. "Don't ever apologise for anything that has happened between us. Do you remember what I said in the clearing?"

I'm not sure what she could mean but I blush as I remember the way I touched her and looked at her then.

"I said that I couldn't regret joining the army because I wouldn't have met you otherwise. What I mean is that I can never regret anything that brought me here to you. It doesn't matter how we got here. So long as I can always do this."

She leans down and presses her lips to mine and I feel my heart melt all over again. As she continues kissing me I let my hands drop until my arms rest against her chest between us. With the rough feel of her shirt under my arms and the delicious feeling of her lips pressed against my skin I realise that she is definitely, completely over-dressed.

My fingers go straight to her top button only fumbling when Brittany's lips drop down to press against my shoulder into the dip above my collar bone. I still manage to get past the second button before Brittany registers what I'm doing. The hand that was in my hair is suddenly holding my hands still at her third button.

"San what are you doing?" she asks with a quizzical tilt of her head as she leans back to look at me.

I feel heat spread across my cheeks to my ears as I realise what this must look like. I stammer so much that Brittany smiles and kisses me quickly into silence. I sink easily into her but she draws back to repeat her questions.

"Are you trying to take my clothes off for any reason in particular?" she asks with a mischievous grin.

"Not like that," I promise. "I mean, I do want—but not that I expect—I mean—" I cut myself off with an aggravated sigh which sounds more like a growl. "I just thought," I begin again. "That you could be more comfortable. Like in the clearing?"

Brittany's expression clears in understanding. "Okay," she says simply, releasing her hold on my hands.

I hesitate until both of her hands are back on my hips and she's looking down at me expectantly. My stomach does a little flip when I realise that she is waiting for me to undress her. I grin as I lean up to press one more kiss to her cheek.

My own cheeks are as warm as hers are as I return my attention back to her buttons though my red cheeks aren't from embarrassment anymore.

— s — — b —

Brittany tries to keep still as Santana's hands travel down her front, releasing each button carefully but efficiently. The care that Santana takes with every action is just another wonderful feature for Brittany to add to her 'Most Wonderful Things About Santana' list.

Santana doesn't hesitate this time to pull Brittany's belt loose so she can more easily tug the shirt and undershirt out from her slacks. Knowing that Santana isn't going to _do_ anything once her belt is off doesn't stop the thrill running through Brittany at the look in Santana's eyes. Whatever they do or don't do tonight this is already the best day of her life.

Santana presses an easy kiss against her lips as the last button comes loose. Brittany shrugs the shirt away from her shoulders and drops it to the floor, completely uncaring. Santana sees the action and smirks.

"You know you're going to have to pick that up later," she says with a wry smile.

Brittany shrugs and ducks down to kiss again at Santana's shoulder again, letting her lips part over the skin as she remembers how it felt when Santana's kisses became wet against her own jaw. She pushes her hips into Santana's as well and hopes that she won't ever have to stop doing this. The feel of Santana against her is just so right. She longs to know what it will feel like when her chest is finally unbound. She's so glad that Santana is clearly in the same frame of mind that she is.

As soon as Brittany allows the space between them Santana lifts Brittany's undershirt to just below her ribs and isn't shy about feeling around for the end of the bandage. Brittany's eyes flutter closed as delicate fingertips search under her breasts and along her ribs until she eventually finds the bandage end in exactly the same place she left it.

Brittany opens her eyes when Santana doesn't pull the bandages away straight away. She finds Santana looking into her face, a request for permission in her expression. Brittany nods once and Santana can't seem to help the small smirk that pulls at the corner of her lips as she loosens the bandage. Santana's eyes never leave Brittany's though as she uncoils the bandage, taking the time to slowly and carefully roll the bandage into a useful coil of fabric.

Her touch remains innocent(or as innocent as can be when her knuckles brush directly of Brittany's nipples) but still causes an involuntary shiver. Santana doesn't look down once, using touch to guide her, even to the last coil. She stares into Brittany's eyes as though assuring them both that she won't look.

But then she does look and Brittany can't help but giggle. She's not sure if it's the movement of her chest or the laugh which brings a bright blush to Santana's cheeks but she loves it either way. There's a beat before Santana drags her eyes back up to Brittany's.

"Oh please," Santana says even as she rolls her eyes at her own behaviour. "You'd look too," she grumbles.

Brittany nods, smothering her giggles behind a close-lipped grin, "Yes, I would."

Santana's cheeks only get brighter as she ducks down to place the roll of bandages on top of Brittany's shirt. Brittany waits patiently for Santana to move back into her arms. Her hands move easily to Santana's waist and she watches, waiting to see what Santana will do with her next. Her body hopes for so many things but her head and her heart are both just delighted to have Santana close.

Santana looks up at her as though suddenly unsure of herself. Brittany waits. Santana chews on her lower lip as her eyes flicker down again, this time to Brittany's bare stomach. Brittany just watches her, waiting.

Brittany can't help but swallow dryly when Santana finally does move because her hands go to the waistband of her slacks and tugs them down on her hips. The motion is similar to one last week and even though she was lying down last time the jolt of arousal that runs through her is very much the same. The hungry look in Santana's eyes as one hand moves to Brittany's hip confirms that Santana is feeling similarly affected.

Santana's thumb caresses over the skin of Brittany's abdomen just by her hip and Brittany swallows again as she has to force her eyes to remain open and watching Santana. The feeling is a little overwhelming and her heart is beating faster than it should. Santana's other hand hovers over Brittany's stomach, her palm somewhere just below her navel. Santana lets her fingertips fall against skin first and the light touch tickles. Santana's warm palm falls next and then her whole hand is splayed out across Brittany's stomach. She seems fascinated by the muscles and flat plains there as her hand drifts across every inch. She's exploring Brittany's skin, her body. It makes Brittany ache.

Brittany's eyes finally close and her head falls forward at the sensations coursing through her. She should be tickled by Santana's touch but all she feels is the stoking of the heat in her abdomen. Santana's hand finally stills and Brittany thanks God for small mercies. Her thanks are for nothing though as she feels Santana lean forward and place a delicate kiss against her jaw.

Santana's lips quickly become more daring, skating across Brittany's jaw and down to her neck. When Santana nudges her lips across her earlobe and Brittany wishes silently that Santana would just go ahead and use her tongue. She wonders if Santana is thinking the same thing but is too nervous to actually just do it.

Brittany takes the direct approach, shifting her own hands to Santana's lower back and pulling her more firmly against her. She leans down to press her lips to Santana's bare shoulder and lets her tongue slip between her lips as she does. It's Brittany's first real taste of Santana's skin and it is incredible. She feels Santana flinch in the most wonderful away against her(Santana pulls her closer) and she can't help but do it again. She gains a proper taste on the second pass and she is immediately addicted.

Brittany taste's more skin at Santana's neck and she feels the other girl shudder against her.

"Oh, God." Santana moans.

Brittany feels an immense sense of accomplishment at being able to make Santana emit that particular noise. She wants to hear it again so she licks the same spot. She smiles against Santana's neck when another small moan rumbles through her.

"Fuck Britt," Santana gasps. "We need to slow down before I can't stop."

Brittany feels a thrill at the curse, the tone and the idea all at once. She feels a heat spread through her whole body and it makes her want to do everything Santana. She's not even sure what everything is but she knows she wants to make it happen.

Brittany leans back and brings her hands to the front clasps of Santana's corset, marvelling as always at the fine fabric. Santana's hand immediately leaves Brittany's hip to grab at her hands.

"That's not slow Sweets," she laughs, the playful tone returning to her voice.

Brittany almost frowns at the way Santana seems to have calmed down so quickly. Although, looking down she can see Santana's chest still heaving a little as Santana takes deep breaths. Brittany can't help but be a little distracted.

"Sweets?" Santana calls again.

Brittany registers that Santana has asked her a question.

Santana smiles and shakes her head, "Did you want to take this off?"

Santana sounds almost shy as she asks and Brittany immediately takes her hands away from Santana's chest, actually pulling them behind her back to avoid any more inappropriate touching. It takes her a moment to understand but then she sees Santana's fingers at the clasps on her corset and Brittany immediately knows her response. She nods eagerly.

Santana suppresses her laugh this time, chewing on her lip as her shoulders shake in a silent chuckle.

Brittany could watch Santana's smile all day but she can't help the way that her eyes are drawn down to Santana's fingers as the last few clasps come apart at once. Brittany knows her eyes are wide as she looks back up to Santana and the sound of heavy fabric hitting the floor reaches her ears.

When Brittany's eyes are inevitably drawn back down by the lure of what had been previously hidden under the corset Santana laughs.

"Told you you'd look," Santana says, a happy kind of victory in her tone.

Brittany looks back up to Santana's eyes, "You were right."

Santana's smile falters a little at the look in her eyes. Brittany finally draws her hands from behind her back to wind them around Santana again. She holds one hand at the small of Santana's back and the other at the back of her neck. There's a small gasp torn from one or both of them as their bodies finally come back together.

Without the constricting fabric they both wear, Brittany can finally, truly feel the heat of Santana's body against her own. She wants to feel more and Santana must as well as she grabs Brittany's shoulder and pulls her into a frantic kiss. Their movements are urgent and needy and Brittany feels Santana's tongue slip against her lip. She immediately lets her own tongue slip past her lips so she can taste Santana as well.

Santana's hand is still pressed against Brittany's stomach between them so when she slips her tongue past Santana's lips for the first time she can feel the way Santana's hand twitches and closes into a fist.

Brittany feels everything and it's incredible but she wishes she could understand everything as well. She wants to be able to bring her feelings, her head, her heart and body together but with Santana's tongue nudging against her own she knows that her body is the only part of her that's in control right now.

Brittany pulls her lips from Santana's to take a deep, controlling breath and she has to wonder if she's gone completely mad. She even considers kicking her own behind later for pulling away but she needs the distance for a moment. She even goes so far as to allow a small distance to grow between their bodies.

Santana whines and the hand on Brittany's stomach flattens again, moving around to grasp at Brittany's waist. Brittany almost forgets herself at the feeling and goes back to kissing Santana. Almost.

"I—er. Santana, I have to just." She doesn't know how to explain what she needs but Santana seems to understand anyway.

With one more quick kiss Santana steps away from Brittany, leaving her hands where they are but allowing the gap to appear between their bodies again.

"Is it okay—" Again, Brittany just doesn't know what to ask for.

"We could just lie down?" Santana suggests. "And talk," she adds quickly.

Brittany nods and further separates them by sitting on the bed to tug off her boots. She's glad when Santana follows and sits down to take off her own boots. She's even more glad and a small smile creeps back onto her face as their shoulders and hips bump.

Brittany bumps her shoulder more solidly into her and Santana retaliates the same with a giggle. Brittany loves to hear her laugh and she can see the way Santana's nose scrunches up as she giggles at Brittany's antics(number one on her list is still a favourite tonight).

With her boots tossed aside Brittany lies down on the covers and opens her arms, inviting Santana to lie down against her. Santana happily lies down immediately to settle her cheek against Brittany's shoulder, her left arm between them and her right slung across Brittany's stomach. Santana lets her right leg sling over Brittany's just a little. Being so surrounded by Santana is the most absolutely perfect feeling. She holds Santana closer to her and just breathes, allowing her thoughts to drift.

— s — — b —

Lima, Ohio 1875

It's surprisingly easy to go on with my life as if nothing has changed. If my father hadn't died, I would still wake up and braid my hair, I would still go to the kitchen to help serve breakfast, I would still be lonely. The only difference from before to now is that my father is gone and Ken Tenaka stands in his place. His presence, just like Papá's on the periphery of my life is minor. He speaks to me more now but his presence is unobtrusive and easy to ignore.

And then it isn't. Suddenly my life is so intertwined with his that I can't escape him. His fate is now mine and Mr Tenaka is being asked to leave the farm.

"You can't really think that I could believe any of these excuses Ken?" Mr Wilson's voice is angry and full of the hurt that comes from betrayal.

Mr Tenaka splutters and billows like an old boiler but doesn't really have anything to say. He's been caught red handed, stealing property and income from the farm. He's lucky not to be thrown in jail, let alone be allowed to leave the farm unharmed.

Several of the farmhands, including the new overseer are looking like they might try to kill him but Mr Wilson is giving him the chance to leave. Mr Tenaka is apparently too stupid to see his opportunity.

"You can't do this to me Jim." Mr Tenaka argues with Mr Wilson. "What am I supposed to do? Where am I supposed to go?"

He's bellowing like wounded bull and making sure that every single person on the farm will come out to see his disgrace. I see Tommy come out of the main house behind his mother. He looks at me with questioning eyes but I just shrug, not really understanding what's going on and not being able to communicate over the distance between us anyway.

Mr Wilson shakes his head. "Your problems stopped being mine the minute you pocketed that money Ken and you know it."

Mr Tenaka turns on the spot, desperately searching for a friendly face. His eyes land on me and I can't help but flinch.

"What about the girl?" Ken says suddenly, turning back to Mr Wilson. His tone and posture are pleading. "Lopez's girl is in my care now. What about her?"

Mr Wilson turns to me and I'm a little surprised to find his eyes are caring. He looks at Mr Tenaka again and I can see his hard expression wavering. I wouldn't have believed it but he is actually considering letting him stay for my sake.

Ken sees the wavering doubt and, thinking he's found his salvation turns to Mrs Wilson. "Mary please, think of the girl," he pleads, not quite gesturing to me at all when he waves an arm behind him.

I know instantly by Mrs Wilson's expression that she was the wrong person to appeal to. She looks at me with a spite hot enough to burn as she places herself in front of her son. Tommy's eyes widen over her shoulder as we both realise the same thing. She knows about us and she has found the perfect opportunity to remove me from their lives.

"The girl is also your problem Ken. Now please remove yourself and her from this property immediately." Her voice is cold enough to make me shiver.

Tommy moves around her and runs to my side. "No you can't just throw her out," he yells at his father.

Mr Wilson looks between the two of us and his wife. He is obviously torn and Mr Tenaka has been mostly forgotten.

"Get back here now Tommy," Mrs Wilson demands.

Tommy ignores her, turning to his father. "Dad, please. You can't do this to her. It isn't right."

Mrs Wilson talks over the top of him. "James, just get rid of the both of them. With her blood and Ken's influence she'll be nothing but trouble anyway." She doesn't look at me or Tommy or Mr Tenaka, just her husband and I can see the influence she has over him.

Mr Wilson turns back to me with an apology and I know that the last word has been said. My body becomes numb. I don't really feel it as Mr Tenaka grabs at my arm with a growl that sounds suspiciously like 'useless'. I don't flinch when Tommy steps in front of me and pushes Mr Tenaka hard in the chest or when everything erupts around us.

Mr Wilson rushes forward and seizes Tommy around his arms and chest. Tommy struggles, trying to reach out for me. For all that he's grown so tall in the past few seasons, he's still only fourteen and hardly a match for his father. Mr Tenaka grabs harshly at my wrist and I go with him willingly. I'm just a girl with no family and nowhere else to go. I look back at Tommy who has gone limp in his fathers arms. He's the only real friend I've known and it hurts to be pulled from him, even if I never loved him.

I stumble in Mr Tenaka's wake as he grips my wrist hard enough to bruise. I don't fight but he holds tight anyway. I find that it's a comforting type of clarity that comes from knowing that my whole life is about to change and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

Brittany is in a content, drifting state just listening to Santana's smooth breath as she sleeps so she notices immediately when Santana jolts awake. She runs a soothing hand down Santana's arm.

Santana is so small against her that Brittany could swear she would break with the smallest pressure. She picks up Santana's hand from her waist and kisses her wrist. She replaces her hand and then kisses her forehead and nuzzles into hair as well because that's what she wants to do.

"I panicked," Santana says suddenly, pulling Brittany out of her revery.

"When?" Brittany asks, running encouraging fingers through Santana's hair(she will never have enough of touching Santana's hair).

"The way you found me tonight. I was—"

Brittany has grown tense and she knows Santana can feel it.

Santana sighs before continuing. "I was with a Trick."

Brittany's fingers still in Santana's hair at this statement. They never talk about this. She knows they have to. She just isn't sure if she wants to know the details. She pushes down her own fear and resumes her stroking Santana's hair. She wants to know everything about Santana. This is just one more piece of the puzzle.

Santana closes her eyes and leans more into Brittany's hands as she continues. "Everything was fine and completely average. The Trick was a creep but that's nothing new." she rolls her eyes. "He said I was a fiery filly or some shit. He was going to break me."

Brittany frowns at that. She knows when someone is trying to be demeaning. People try to demean her all the time. Whether it was before her father died and someone might try to call her stupid or after when they'd a call her skinny or a pussy. Brittany recognises an the words of an asshole.

Santana seems deep in thought as she keeps talking "I tried to ignore it. It's usually easy but," she tilts her head up to look into Brittany's eyes. "All I could think about was you and the way you care, the way you talk to me." She shakes her head and blinks back the tears that are gathering in her eyes.

Brittany feels a tightness in her throat and she brings up her other hand to stroke her fingers over Santana's scrunched brow and the shell of her ear. She kisses Santana's cheek for good measure and is glad when Santana's lips quirk in a small smile.

"It was those words that did it I think," Santana continues. "That he wanted to 'break me'. In all his fine clothes and clean haircut, I knew straight away that he really would try. And for the first time I felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. Any time a trick acted like that before I could always just take it as part of the job you know?" she looks up at Brittany, asking for something.

Brittany doesn't completely understand but she nods anyway.

"I took him upstairs and into that room. He blocked the door with a chair. These doors don't lock for a reason. Even though I _know_ that Shane is always just downstairs, I was just too scared to do anything." The tears finally start falling.

Brittany could kill this man but she knows to not even ask for his name. He isn't important. Santana isn't just talking about him. She's talking about every man that has ever touched her in that way. It's every filthy paw that didn't belong against her skin that causes Santana's tears now.

Brittany swipes away the tears from Santana's cheeks.

She gives what Brittany knows is the bravest smile. "I thought I could just be passive and go along with it like I always do but," she shrugs one shoulder. "I just couldn't. So when he kissed me and he touched me."

Brittany's finger become still again as she feels anger boil up inside of her.

"I had to push him away," Santana says through her otherwise silent tears.

Brittany does't know if Santana even realises that she's crying. "I tried to push him away but he was too strong. Or, I was too weak. Then he was o—on t-top of me—" she can't go any further and Brittany does her best to wrap herself around the poor broken girl.

"Shh—sh San, It's okay, I have you," Brittany mumbles with further calming nonsense that she just hopes Santana understands through the way she holds her close.

Every shake and every shudder that Brittany absorbs into her body makes her heart crack further open. She feels every fibre of her body, her everything splitting open to draw Santana in. She feels Santana become a part of her.

Brittany feels the strongest need to keep Santana safe. She wishes she could take all the previous hurts and heal them without scars. She wishes she could offer Santana all the happiness in the world. She would give her own life in an instant if it meant Santana could be happy always. Brittany feels her own heart shatter only to reform with Santana inside.

Brittany loves Santana with her whole heart and there's nothing she can do to stop it.

She knows it's the only truth that really matters but some hopeless, nervous, awful part of her keeps the words from her lips. She feels selfish in her desire to say them. She desperately wants Santana to say the same words back to her and to mean them. She wants Santana to love her the same way she loves her. But that isn't what Santana needs right now. Brittany feels the demands of her own heart but ignores them. She wishes she were stronger for Santana. Then she could be strong enough, selfless enough to say how she feels.

For now she holds Santana close and kisses away her tears. For now she runs her fingers through Santana's hair. She wipes away Santana's tears with the gentlest of touches and longs for the strength that she needs and that Santana truly(truly) deserves.

She holds Santana tight to her chest and strokes her hand down her back until they both finally fall asleep.

— s — — b —

Brittany wakes as the first hint of light creeps through the sheer curtains over the window. Santana is tucked up against her chest with her hair tickling her nose. Brittany can't help the silly smile that spreads across her face along with the happy, full feeling in her chest. She can't see Santana's face but she knows by the steady rhythm of the breath against her neck that she is still fast asleep. Santana seems to have barely moved at all during the night and Brittany feels a kind of warmth at the idea that Santana would sleep so soundly in her arms. She always wants Santana to feel safe with her.

Santana's hand is warm against Brittany's sternum with her wrist laying on her chest between her breasts. Brittany is confident that the hand had been more safely slung across her abdomen when they fell asleep. Santana's hand must have drifted during the night.

Brittany can only wonder if her own hand has drifted in the night since she can neither see nor feel it. She ties to twitch her fingers and she realises her hand is somewhere on the other side of Santana.

She knows she needs to get up. She wants to see Ms Corcoran. She doesn't know what she wants to say but she needs to know that what happened last night with that trick won't happen again. Shelby is the one who decides, is the one who can protect Santana in the way that Brittany can't. It hurts to know that she can't protect Santana from this. She would take her away from this place immediately if either of them had anywhere else to go.

Brittany is sure it would be safe enough to return to SanFrancisco by now but she's barely able to support herself there, let alone take care of Santana as well. Sure, Santana could follow similar work in SanFrancisco or even find work in a factory but that isn't the life Brittany wants for her. She wants to give Santana a life she deserves. It's just not possible yet.

Brittany flexes her wrist and shifts her arm slightly to test how easily she'll be able to get it out from under Santana. She doesn't want to wake her. She's actually hoping to be back before she wakes but she's going to need to take her arm with her.

Brittany very gently takes a hold of the arm Santana rests against her chest and slides away from her. She places Santana's arm on the bed in the space she just vacated, unable to resist placing the lightest of kisses to the back of Santana's hand. Santana's face remains relaxed in sleep and Brittany can't help but stare at her for a short while. She memorises the soft planes of her face and the small parting of her lips as she snores softly in the absence of Brittany as her pillow.

Brittany pulls her eyes away from the sleeping beauty and picks up her chest wrappings to quickly tie them around her. She pulls her shirt back on then presses one more kiss into Santana's hair. She considers leaving her boots off but knows that her height in the shoes can only help in whatever this conversation is going to be. She kneels to fix her shoes then grabs her cap to slip it back over her hair. She does up the buttons on her shirt as she leaves the room, careful to shut the door softly as she can behind her. She would lock the door to keep Santana safe but closed will have to be enough. She hopes Santana is dreaming of her.

She creeps along the hallway, quietly so as not to disturb anyone asleep in the other rooms. When she gets to the saloon she is surprised to hear voices coming from the office she knows is behind the bar(She'd meant to wait for Ms Corcoran). She's even more surprised to hear voices she recognises as Ms Corcoran and Miss Quinn.

"Noah is completely different. And he's been cut off anyway until he can pay his debts."

"Oh of course he is. But Brent could still—" Quinn starts.

"You know that no girl is exclusive," comes Shelby's voice. She sounds harangued and a little annoyed. "Santana isn't any different. She can't let these feelings get in the way of her work."

Brittany hesitates.

Quinn's voice comes through clearly, "I don't really think she's _letting_ anything happen."

Brittany hasn't eaves dropped on anyone since she was a little girl and she has no intention of starting now so she pushes the door open properly. Both Quinn and Shelby look up at her, clearly surprised by her sudden appearance.

"Pierce, you shouldn't be in here," Shelby says immediately.

Quinn gives the woman a glare but doesn't say anything.

Brittany steps into the room. "I'm sorry Ms Corcoran, I know this isn't my place but this is important. Santana is important."

Brittany tries not to cower under Shelby's withering stare. She sets her shoulders and focuses on being Brent the soldier although she is fairly confident that even Karofsky would cower under the strength of this woman's glare. Shelby doesn't even look angry yet, just incredibly focused.

"Do you think she isn't important to me?" she asks.

Brittany resists the urge to shrug as she answers, "I don't know Ms Corcoran. I know that Santana respects you but I also know that what happened last night can't happen again." Her eyes flicker to Quinn with the idea that she might try to say something to her. Quinn's face is impassive as she watches them both.

Shelby's eyes flicker over Brittany for a moment before returning to her face. "Do you know what happened? Did she tell you anything because I am honestly at a loss. She was one of my best girls."

"Was?" Brittany asks.

"Until she met you," shelby says, her gaze accusing.

Brittany is saved from responding as the Saloon door opens with a bang and all three of them startle. Brittany reopens the door to Shelby's office to see who's making the racket. There's a man there who's eyes instantly find her.

"You boy," he says pointing to her feet. "I'm here to speak with Ms Corcoran," the man says brusquely, ordering her attention as though she is somehow beneath him. His arrogance is clear, even with these few words.

Brittany turns back to address Shelby and finds Quinn standing by her instead. Her eyes are wide and warning. "You should leave now Brent. Just go back upstairs."

"No," Shelby says quickly and loud enough for the man to hear her.

The man in the saloon instantly smirks and approaches the office, shoving past Brittany who stands in the doorway.

"Ms Corcoran, you owe me a debt." He points a finger at her rudely. There's a threat in his voice that Brittany doesn't like one bit.

Shelby rises up to her full height. "I owe you no such thing Mr Coleman. You received a full refund for the incident last night."

Quinn actually presses Brittany's arm, "Brent, just go."

Brittany is watching this Coleman man getting angrier and she knows she can't just leave Shelby or Quinn alone with him. He's standing over Shelby making threats. It's not something she can just walk away from.

"Excuse me," Brittany says loud enough to interrupt the man's continued threats and demands. "Why exactly do you think Ms Corcoran owes you anything?"

Quinn's sharp intake of breath is the only warning for what his next words could be.

Coleman laughs as he looks Brittany over. "Well even you had better know what can happen if you buy any of the girls here," He leans back, clearly enjoying the group attention. "See some of them Corcorans girls, despite what rumours suggest, are stupid bitches who don't know how good they're gonna get it." He points at Quinn as if she's some kind of example. "You're pretty enough. Do you think you could suck my cock without crying or would you be like your nigger friend?"

Quinn doesn't respond but Brittany sees the way her eyes widen. Brittany doesn't understand what Coleman is talking about at first. The crude words, though she's heard all of them before are still largely unfamiliar. It takes her a moment to connect their meanings. She looks from the arrogant, slimy man in his fine clothes to Shelby. Shelby's eyes are wide but she isn't watching the man who's saying such awful things. She's looking at Brittany and waiting for her reaction, waiting for Brent's reaction.

Brittany suddenly understands. This man is the one that tried to hurt Santana. Her hands ball into fists as she digs her nails into her palm.

"What did you just say?" Brittany asks in a low, dangerous voice. She heard his words as clear as he intended but she has to be sure.

Coleman's posture somehow becomes even more slimy and arrogant as he looks at Brittany like she must be simpleton. "I'm saying, _boy_ that I had to hold that whore down to get my moneys worth and that's—"

Brittany's fist connects with Coleman's jaw before she even knows her arm is moving. Brittany registers Quinn's yelp of surprise but doesn't really hear it. She feels pure fury burning through her body as she watches that bastard stumble back. She follows instantly after Coleman and grabs at his collar to gain the better angle to slam her fist into his face again and again as his back hits the floor. She pulls her arm back one more time but a strong hand closes around her wrist.

She turns to see the big man that came to collect her last night. He isn't angry or threatening. He's just holding her back. She wants to hit him for getting in her way and she stands, abruptly turning.

"Sweets don't," a voice stops her.

Brittany thinks for moment that Santana must have woken after all but then she realises that Quinn was the one that called after her. She used Santana's nickname for her on purpose and it worked. Brittany realises what she had been doing and instantly moves away from the big man and the battered form of Coleman on the ground. She backs herself against the wall and tries to calm down with deep breaths.

"Sorry," she mumbles to Shelby's strongman, who just shrugs.

He doesn't really acknowledge her any further as Shelby has him pick Coleman up and deposit him outside.

Once the two men are gone(Coleman very much unconscious) Shelby lets out a breath and closes the door to her office.

Brittany shuffles uncomfortably. The rage that had saturated her whole body is gone and she feels oddly weak and empty. She leans more heavily against the wall and she realises that there is an uncomfortable ache in her hand, across every one of her knuckles.

Shelby fixes Brittany with a steady look. "He definitely deserved that," she begins not really smiling but not glaring at her either. "But this can't happen again."

"I'm not sure I'll be doing much of anything again." Brittany whines as she looks over the grazes on her hurt hand.

Shelby rolls her eyes, "Oh honestly, here." She walks over to Brittany and holds her hands out as though waiting for Brittany to give her something.

Brittany just looks at her blankly.

"Your hand?" Shelby says, shifting her own hands where they're held out in front of her.

Brittany pulls her hurt fist away from her chest and slowly extends her arm out to her. Shelby takes the hand and deftly loosens brittany's fist to flatten her fingers.

Brittany gasps in pain, "Ah. Ow, ow, ouch," she whines.

"Don't be a baby," Shelby says, turning Brittany's hand over and running her fingers over Brittany's in a business-like inspection. "Nothing broken and I'm pretty sure you managed to miss his teeth so you don't have to worry about infection. Flex your fingers," she commands.

Brittany complies quickly, holding in her whimper of pain as her four fingers and thumb all flex smoothly.

"Not even a proper strain," Shelby says dismissively. To Quinn she says, "Take a tray from under the bar and grab some water from the store downstairs. Bring it back here."

Quinn nods and leaves without hesitation.

Shelby returns her attention to Brittany's face. "You shouldn't have done that," she iterates, letting Brittany's fingers curl back naturally and pushing her fist back toward her chest.

Brittany holds her aching fist under her chin and doesn't say anything. She doesn't understand this woman at all.

Brittany wants to just go back to Santana but she still needs to say something to Shelby. "I don't want Santana to have to deal with him again," she says. "Or anyone like him," she adds with a scowl.

Shelby just raises her eyebrows in amusement. "I'm afraid most of them are like him."

"Then I don't want any of them to touch her," Brittany says, the anger is still simmering on the edge of her consciousness. She doesn't really know how to make it stop.

"Except you?" Shelby asks challengingly.

Brittany doesn't respond.

"You want her exclusively?" she asks.

That's all Brittany wants so she nods.

"Then marry her," Shelby says flatly, as though it's the simplest thing in the world.

Brittany blinks. "But I," she doesn't know what to say to that. Would she marry Santana if she could? They've only known each other for such a short time.

And she already loves her.

"But you what?" Shelby challenges, pushing in closer to Brittany and jabbing into her shoulder with one finger. "But you're not in love with her? You're already married? You're leaving soon? Which is it? I've heard them all."

"I'm not good enough!" Brittany yells, startling Shelby as well as herself. She looks down, defeated. "I have nothing to offer her," she sighs. "If I did then I would marry her in a heartbeat." She slumps against the wall feeling defeat warring with startling clarity in her chest. She does love Santana, she does but…

"I don't understand," Shelby says with narrowed eyes.

"I can't protect her," Brittany says so low she isn't sure she said it at all.

She looks up to see Shelby staring at her with an unreadable expression.

Brittany looks back down to the floor, not bothering to look up when Quinn comes back in.

"Brent?" Quinn's voice calls from somewhere near Shelby's desk.

Brittany looks up to see that Quinn has laid out a tray of water on the desk with a clean towel next to it.

"Put your hand in the water Pierce," Shelby instructs, walking to stand by the desk. "You haven't done any permanent damage but your hand will still swell up if you're not careful."

Brittany is still lost in her own swirling thoughts. She's gone through so many emotions for just one morning. Possibly more emotions than she experienced in the first nineteen years of her life. She needs a moment to collect and understand them all. She sees Quinn and Shelby exchange a look that she doesn't entirely understand and Quinn approaches her with soft footsteps and an even softer smile. She raises one eyebrow as she reaches for the wrist connected to her hurting hand. Brittany lets her pull the hand out from her chest and she follows to the edge of the desk.

Brittany's hand aches terribly as it submerges in the water making her grimace. The water must have come from the cellar and is ice cold as it washes over her hot, bruised knuckles. The water around the gashes on her knuckles goes brown with the blood mixing in. Brittany looks at the clean, white towel on the desk. She can probably just wipe her hand on her shirt. That can have blood stains on it. She has a spare.

Shelby pulls a bottle from a cabinet behind her desk and the sharp sting of alcohol reaches Brittany's nose. She grimaces again and Shelby smirks.

"You have to know Brent that Santana won't be exclusive. Like you said, you aren't good enough for her and Santana needs to get back to work so she can get past all of this."

Brittany feels her heart clench as she considers what Shelby's words really mean.

"However," Shelby continues. "If you're serious about marrying her, and if you would take her away from here I wouldn't try to stop you."

Brittany looks at Shelby properly for the first time since she hit that man. Is it possible that there are tears in her eyes? Brittany feels her own throat constrict.

Brittany doesn't know what to say and she wouldn't trust her voice if she did so she just nods. What she's agreeing too isn't entirely clear but she knows that when it comes to Santana, she'll agree to anything.

"I guess I know why she calls you Sweets," Quinn smirks as she shakes her head. Brittany could swear she sees a tumult of emotion hidden behind the smirk.

Brittany stares into the water swirling around her hand and just waits for Shelby to say she can do otherwise.

"Now lift up your hand Pierce," Shelby finally says holding out her own hand and the bottle.

Brittany hesitates for a moment before pulling her hand from the water, only letting the drips fall back into the tray. Shelby pours a measure of the alcohol over Brittany's knuckles causing Brittany to wince again. She finishes by pouring clean water from the pitcher over her hand(it's freezing cold) then wrapping it quickly in the towel. Brittany doesn't even get a chance to protest the mess she'll be making of the white.

"I understand what she sees in you Pierce," Shelby says as she pats the moisture carefully from Brittany's hand. She doesn't sound impressed, more like she is simply stating a fact. "Now get out of my office."

Brittany pulls her hand back toward herself quickly at the sharp tone and turns to leave.

"Out the front door Pierce." Shelby says in a warning voice.

"But Santana—"

"Will have to wake up without you," Shelby says so dismissively that Brittany glares. "Quinn can let her know that you've gone."

Brittany sees Quinn's eyes get wide but she doesn't argue. "Yes, I can let her know." Her eyes dart back and forth between Shelby and Brittany as though waiting for one of them to suddenly attack the other.

Brittany scowls at Shelby, but she knows that there's no point in arguing the point any further. The man who took out Coleman is most certainly loitering nearby. She nods curtly.

Quinn breathes a sigh of relief. "Come on then Pierce, I'll make sure your feet don't mysteriously stray back upstairs."

With everything that's happened Brittany can't be mad at Quinn even if she is helping Shelby keep her from Santana.

— s — — b —

Quinn examines Brittany Pierce from the corner of her eye. "So you really want to marry her, huh?" she asks, leading Pierce out of Shelby's office. She wishes Shelby had just let the woman go back to Santana.

Pierce looks down at her startled. She obviously didn't know that Quinn had heard that part about marrying but the worry on her face clears after just a moment. She nods.

Quinn looks very seriously at her, trying to find a way to understand this woman's motivations. "Okay," she finally says, resigning herself to some interesting conversations with Santana later on. "Just, don't hurt her Pierce," she says letting the warning ring clear in her voice.

Brittany just nods again with a solemn sort of promise in her eyes. She turns to leave and Quinn makes her way to the stairs to break the news to Santana.

Brittany stops at the door and Quinn stops too. "If it's not too much trouble, Miss Quinn," Brittany begins hesitant. "I would appreciate it if you didn't mention this to Santana?" It's an honest request and her voice is so timid compared to the rough and angry voice she had used with Shelby. "It's too—she's too important for me to just—for that to just be—"

Quinn can't help but want to ease the girl's worry. "Of course," she says quickly. "It's your secret to tell."

Brittany sighs in relief, making real eye contact with her for the first time. "Thank you," she says it with a gentle smile as she glances to the tops of the stairs and back to Quinn. "It means a lot to me." She turns to leave.

"Pierce," Quinn calls out to regain the girls attention. "Don't wait too long to tell her, okay."

Brittany freezes and blinks. Eventually her shoulders relax and she nods. "I will," she promises quietly before passing through the door and closing it behind her softly.

Quinn sighs as she walks up the stairs, knowing that Santana won't be happy to know that Brittany is gone. She hopes that all of Brittany's promises are just as true as they seem.


	17. What Happens Now? Part 1

AN: Wow you guys are awesome with all the favourites. Every one is quietly treasured(I may even stalk your profiles to see what you lovelies like reading). Thank you so much.

* * *

San Francisco, California 1875

There's no reason to believe that she isn't stronger than the day before but she can't help but feel that she's becoming weaker. Every muscle in her body aches and every movement feels like a fresh strain. Holly is working her through this new routine to make her stronger than before. She says that the stronger Brittany is, the better dancer she'll be. Her dance partner John says it just makes her heavier and harder to lift.

Britt takes Holly's word over John's any day but she still can't help but wonder, as she fights to bring her chin above the horizontal pole once again, whether John has a point.

Brittany lets out a grunt as she slowly lowers herself back down. Her feet still don't touch the ground since the bar is at least eight feet above it.

"I still don't know why I would need to be able to—" she pulls herself back up again as she continues. "Lift myself like this Holly." Brittany lowers herself down again as Holly answers.

"The motion isn't the point Baby Doll. It's the strength that matters." Holly taps Brittany's calf and steps back.

Brittany acknowledges the signal and starts swinging her legs back and forth until she builds up enough momentum for her whole body to swing up and over the bar. She lets gravity complete her arc and the momentum pulls her upward again. She changes the angle of her body so her hips bump the bar and she can swing her body up and over. She supports her weight on straightened arms against the bar, looking down on Holly who just watches expectantly.

Brittany realises how much she doesn't want to do any more and she lets her posture relax. "Why split my attention away from dance though?"

"Less talking, more swinging." Holly says, her accent becoming thicker with annoyance.

Brittany never stops in the middle of her training like this but she's feeling petulant and argumentative. She uses a manoeuvre from a different routine to swing her legs and hips up and over the bar until her thighs support her weight, much like someone would sit on a fence. She keeps her hands on the bar, either side of her, feeling very aware suddenly of just how far she is from the ground.

Holly frown up at her. "What do you think you're doing? We have more calisthenics to do after this. You are only waisting time."

Brittany ignores that and readdresses her first question. "John says I just get heavy with all of the extra muscle that I need to do this."

Holly's eyebrows go up in surprise. "You have been talking with John very much?"

Brittany feels her cheeks pink despite herself. "Yes, before and after practice."

"Okay, you can come down now," Holly says abruptly.

Brittany thought she would have to argue for a long time and had already figured she would even finish the routine no matter how she argued. She takes the opportunity to duck out early using her favourite dismount. With all the strength she has left, she swings her legs off the bar and behind it so she can tilt up with her arms, body and legs all outstretched away from the bar and perfectly perpendicular to the ground. Shecan't hold the position for more than a second but can feel every muscle in her body working. She feels strong again.

Satisfied, Brittany lets her body fall in the perfect arc until she can let go at exactly the right time. She tucks her body and feels like she could fly as she moves through the air, unfolding from herself at the last possible moment for her feet to land securely on the ground.

"Sloppy," Holly criticises.

Brittany can't help the scowl that creases her brow. It was perfect. She looks at Holly to see that she's smiling. She's just teasing after all. Brittany breathes a sigh of relief.

Holly isn't about to just let her quit though. "Handstand. Hold until I say."

Brittany moves to a better place on the floor to do as she's told, falling forward onto her hands then drawing her legs and body up until her back is straight. Compared to what she was just doing on the bar this is easy, although her head is starting to heat up a little from hanging upside down.

"Have you been spending time with John outside of class?"

Brittany considers lying but performs a sort of upside down nod instead.

"And you just talk with him?"

Brittany considers the question. She knows the answer is no but at the same time she doesn't know how Holly will react. She knows her father would probably be so angry he'd never allow Brittany to see John again. He may stop Brittany from dancing altogether like he has threatened to do in the past. Holly though has always been the indulgent one.

"We do other stuff," Brittany admits finally.

Holly makes a humming sound that gives away nothing. "Down and forty sit ups please."

Brittany gladly returns her feet to the ground. She was worried her ears would pop off with all the pressure.

Holly watches Brittany get down on the floor. "What is this 'stuff' you are doing?"

Brittany shrugs through her tenth sit up. "He kissed me." she tries to sound like it's not important. Like what she's saying isn't a danger to her reputation and potential marriage prospects. "He also held me and pressed me against the wall outside the studio." Her cheeks are burning as she counts through the thirtieth sit up.

"How did you feel about that Baby Doll?"

It's not the reaction Brittany was expecting and she stops at thirty five sit ups to look at Holly. She can't see the woman's face because she has turned back to the window.

Brittany shrugs, "It was nice I guess." She doesn't explain that it was nicer when she kissed Penelope and held her against the same wall a few weeks ago.

Holly turned back to her and her expression is opaque. "I'd like for you to understand some things Brittany."

Though she doesn't know what Holly could be hinting at Brittany nods. Holly only uses her full name when things are serious.

Holly smiles. "I'm going to put together a new lesson. We'll call it science."

She smiles broadly when Brittany groans, knowing how much she hates science(except for astronomy but that is completely different).

"It's important Baby Doll."

Brittany sighs and goes back to her sit ups.

"Just do me a favour Baby Doll?" Holly asks as Brittany gets to number forty five. "Don't be alone with John until then?"

It's a request but Holly looks so serious that Brittany is quick to nod her agreement. She can always spend some more time with Penny anyway.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

Quinn approaches the door with a little trepidation. She doesn't really know if Santana is naked. Best case scenario, she's asleep. It's not like Quinn hasn't seen Santana in every manor of undress available; they spend most of their time in their camisoles; they wear their corsets and underskirts for everyone to see every day that they work. This is just a little _different_.

She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. There's a low grumble on the other side and Quinn takes that as a good enough signal to enter.

She resists the urge to cover her eyes as she looks for Santana who for some reason is still dressed. Her corset is gone but she's otherwise on top of the blankets and apparently only ruffled by sleep. Nothing else.

Santana rolls over but doesn't open her eyes as she drags her hands over her face.

"Sweets? What are you doing? You don't have to leave til the bell. Come back to bed." Santana's voice is thick with sleep.

"With romantic words like that, how can a girl resist?"

Santana's eyes snap open. "What are you doing in here?"

"Your princess is otherwise occupied."

"What?" Santana is really looking pissed now.

Quinn shuts the door behind her and goes to sit down next to her.

"What are you doing in here Quinn? Where's Brittany?"

Quinn is glad that Santana didn't think about what she should call Pierce. She just called her Brittany without second guessing. Quinn takes it as a vote of confidence in her.

"There was a minor...incident downstairs."

"What? What happened," Santana throws her legs over the edge and looks around frantically.

Quinn can see Santana's corset by the bed but she doesn't say anything. She just holds Santana's shoulder to stop her going any further.

"Stop, Santana. She's already gone."

Quinn is sure that she has never seen Santana look so disappointed.

She pulls Santana back onto the bed and keeps nudging at her until she falls back on the pillows. She lies down beside her and pillows her head against Santana's shoulder. She wraps her arm across Santana's ribs and drapes one leg over her. She holds her close enough that she can't possibly run away.

"Shelby asked her to leave," Quinn says quickly.

"What?" Santana tries to get up but Quinn tightens her hold.

"It was somewhat justified San."

"What? What does that mean?"

Quinn frowns at the reiteration.

"Why would Shelby kick her out?" Santana demands again.

"She _might_ have punched that Coleman fellow in the face." Quinn picks her head up so she can see Santana's reaction.

Santana's eyes go wide as she looks from Quinn to the ceiling but gives no other response.

Quinn continues, "She also followed him to the ground and proceeded to beat him into unconsciousness."

Santana's eyes almost bulge out of her head, "Jesus. Is she okay?"

Quinn gives her a look that she hopes is clear in asking Santana if she's being truly serious.

Santana doesn't give any indication to the contrary so Quinn nods.

"She hurt her hand," Quinn says. "But nothing serious—Hey, wait—" She has to nudge Santana back to the bed again before the sentence is done. "Shelby had her cool her hand off in a tray of water from the cellar and then sent her back to her own camp," Quinn explains.

Santana falls silent again, absorbing everything.

"Oh," she finally says. Calm, as though she _hadn't_ been ready to go running after Brittany or storming into Shelby's office.

"Brittany wanted to come back to you," Quinn feels the need to add.

"Yes, I know," Santana responds with such surety that it actually hurts Quinn a little to hear it.

Quinn thinks of Rachel as she adds, "Shelby just pushed her out the door and she let it happen."

Santana just nods again, not really listening. Quinn frowns as her mild fit of spite is ignored.

Something in Santana's expression registers in Quinn and she raises an eyebrow at her, leaning over her again. "She's been spending so much time with men, their idiocy must be rubbing off on her." Quinn says it with a small laugh, waiting keenly for the response.

"Hmm, maybe," Santana mumbles,clearly still not listening.

Quinn's eyebrow shoots up, followed by the other one to properly express her disbelief. "Oh my God, you're actually flattered by this ridiculous behaviour," Quinn accuses.

Santana blushes and that's enough for Quinn.

Quinn shakes her head, "Oh sweetie, you can't possibly—"

"No, of course it's ridiculous but there's still something…I don't know. She just wants to protect me. You can see that, can't you?"

Quinn still looks a little incredulous.

Santana continues with a kind of dopey half smile. "She has this charming way about her. When she looks at me I just—" she laughs.

She really laughs and Quinn thinks she likes seeing Santana like this. Pierce is a soothing influence on her friend. She's not sure if Shelby has quite seen this yet. Shelby said she wouldn't stand in the way of them but Quinn isn't sure how much Santana will get to see of Pierce after what happened with that brute Coleman.

"Shelby was pretty pissed at your girl," Quinn says rolling her eyes at the smile quirking Santana's lips at the words 'your girl'. "She might not let her back in the house."

"What did Shelby say to her? If she hurt Brittany any more I'll—" she waves her hands in a general way about her, seemingly unable to properly express what she'd like to do to Shelby.

"San, you know you can't argue with Shelby. She's probably just going to do the opposite of whatever you say."

"I don't care Quinn." This time there is no getting Santana to sit still. She's off the bed and gathering her clothes. "She can't kick Britt out for trying to defend me. She can't." Santana has that steely look of determination.

"Shelby can do whatever she wants San and you know it."

Santana has her skirt on and corset half set. "Then I'll change her mind."

"I don't think she trusts her Santana."

"Why not?"

"Well, Shelby has had maybe three interactions with Pierce and one of those included her punching a Trick into unconsciousness." Quinn is getting desperate as Santana approaches the door. "She thinks Pierce isn't good enough for you." She hopes that Santana will see it as a positive that Shelby cares that much about her.

Unfortunately she seems to have achieved the opposite effect. Santana's eyes flash.

"How can she say that?" Santana obviously decides that she doesn't need an answer as she rushes from the room. She's not even wearing any shoes.

— s — — b —

Brittany feels a heavy sadness in her chest that she knows for sure is caused by her sudden removal from the house. She knew that she would have to leave, that her time with Santana was limited but she never imagined that she would not even get to say goodbye.

She thinks of how she left Santana. Her face was soft and relaxed in sleep. Her hair was mussed over the pillow and sticking out at all possible angles. She looked beautiful and Brittany would love to go back in and kiss her awake. She hesitates on the edge of the stairs, considering what would happen if she did go back inside. Maybe she could sneak back in without anyone noticing. Maybe she could be back in that room in time to wake Santana with gentle kisses across her face, her neck, her shoulders...

Right before Shelby's strong man comes in and kicks her out for good. Shelby had seemed like a reasonable woman. There was a stern kindness behind her eyes and Brittany knows that she cares for Santana in her own way. When it comes down to it though, Shelby scares her.

Brittany shakes her head and steps into the street. She looks up and down the thoroughfare, momentarily misplacing her direction. She sees a man on the left sprawled in the dirt. His pained moans caught her attention and looking over the bruised and bloody face Brittany realises that this must be coleman.

She can't help but gasp. She'd never punched anyone before. Not on purpose and definitely not anyones face. She had no idea the bruises would bloom so quickly. She had slept through the appearance of her own bruises so she hadn't known what they looked like until hours after they'd been inflicted.

She feels a moment of distress for what she'd actually done. Coleman lets out another groan and Brittany glares down at him. She hates him for what he did to Santana, for the things that he said. If she were presented with the same situation she wouldn't hesitate to do exactly the same thing. Yet standing above him, seeing the bruises, the split lip, the black eye that her fists inflicted she can't help but feel a horrible guilt. She feels it deep in her bones, the horror that this is what her life has come to. She isn't a thug. She doesn't hurt other living things.

Except now she does.

She hurt this man because he hurt and threatened someone that she cares about. And she would do it again. She has an awful feeling that she _will_ do it again. If Santana ever needed her to she wouldn't hesitate. Just the thought of Santana facing another man like Coleman pulls a tight, angry impulse in her gut. Like a low heat that's only one spark from igniting into violent flames. This idiot Colman had thrown a whole pack of matches at the heat and Brittany had ignited violently.

Brittany wonders if maybe her father had started out the same way. Had his violent criminal dealings begun as an honourable fight? She honestly doesn't know. She never had a chance to ask him.

Coleman groans again and this time manages to open his eyes. He shifts his head and Brittany could swear she can see the impression of her own knuckles against the bony edge of his eye. She feels that guilt turn in her stomach again. This violence just isn't something that fits into her understanding just yet.

She looks around to see if she can spot anyone who might know the man. If she knew that someone was going to take care of his wounds she might feel better. Not that she cares for his well being in particular. But no man should have to lie in the dirt with no one to care that he's bloody and bruised. Her own injuries seem to pulse in a reminder of how grateful she was to be deposited back in her tent after the attack. It had felt like the greatest kindness, even performed by her attackers.

Brittany can't seem to catch anyones eye, even though there are people wandering around they all focus on their own feet or their destinations. She sighs and kicks at the man's foot.

"Hey," she says in her low Brent voice. "You can't just sleep here."

Coleman's eyes don't quite focus on her. "Not sleepin," he mumbles. "I was attacked."

"Yeah, well you deserved it you sonovabitch." The curse slips easily from Brittany's mouth and she knows it comes from that dangerous, violent impulse curled in her belly.

Coleman's eyes seem to finally find their focus on Brittany and he flinches back.

Seeing this man flinch away from her makes the violent impulse war once again with her guilt. He looks honest to goodness scared of her. Brittany almost flinches away from the look herself. She thinks for the first time how Santana might react when she hears about what she did. Will she be glad, worried? Will she be scared for Brittany or scared of her. Brittany doesn't know what she will do if Santana flinches away from her like this man just has. What if Santana sees the violence inside her and doesn't want her anymore? Coleman just stares at her while a thousand different emotions flood through her.

"What do you want?" he finally asks, finding his voice. "You're going to kick me while I'm down? Maybe steal my money too."

Brittany looks down at him with a sneer. He is truly worthless. She hadn't hit his body, he could get up on his own. Maybe even fight. But he just looks up at her with fear in his eyes. All that slimy arrogance is gone and he's just a worthless little man in fine but bloodied clothes.

She nudges her boot against his again. "Get up, I'm taking you to Beiste."

Coleman looks horrified. "I'm not going anywhere with you. What beast are you talking about? Are you going to chop me up and feed me—"

"Not a beast," Brittany interrupts. "Doctor Beiste. He'll check over your injuries give you something for the pain. I assume since you got your money from Ms Corcoran that you can pay for a doctor."

Coleman doesn't really give a response but Brittany assumes a 'yes'.

She kneels beside him ignoring the further flinch in his shoulders just like she ignores the mud seeping into the knee of her slacks. "Can you stand?" she asks not bothering to hide her impatience with him.

Coleman jerks his head in a negative and Brittany gives a gruff sigh, mindful of her performance as Brett. She shouldn't be sitting this close to a man who would gladly ruin her but he doesn't seem to want to look her in the eye. She figures her identity is safe from this one. A small positive in this mess.

"Come on," she says, forcing her arm under his shoulders and hauling him to his feet.

He must still be feeling a little disoriented and Brittany hopes for her own sake that she hasn't done any permanent damage to his constitution. She takes an experimental step forward and Coleman obliges to step forward with her. She takes another and another until they are striding forward easily with Coleman's arm slung across her shoulders.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks in a pained huff.

Brittany doesn't bother answering him.

"You beat the hell out of me even though we've never met and now you're taking me to the doctor. You could have walked straight past me."

"Yeah, well."

"What did I even do to you?" His voice is a petulant huff.

"Not to me."

"What, did I fuck your mother or something?"

"You really are a piece of shit," Brittany growls.

"Not your mother then."

"No." Brittany is going to leave it there but that nasty, traitorous guilt sitting in her stomach prompts her to explain. "You hurt someone I care about."

"I didn't hurt anyone."

"Yes you did!" she yells and a man on the other side of the street in a fine suit and bowler hat looks at her, startled. "The 'whore' you would have forced yourself on?" she spits out.

"What is it to you, boy? I know she wasn't your sister." Coleman is still an arrogant prick even when Brittany could so easily just drop him in the dirt and walk away.

She reminds herself that she is a better person. "I love her," she says, still marvelling over the new words. She feels that flutter of her heart and wonders if her body is capable of any more warring emotions. It all feels too complicated and too big.

"You're setting yourself up for failure then. You must know that," he says it with a sincerity in his voice that's peculiar against his usual arrogance. "Women like that only care about what they can get from men like us. They love us for money and that's it."

"She didn't want _your_ money," Brittany points out.

"I guess there's always the exception," he grumbles. "And you're still a fool."

Brittany can see the doctor's front door and she forces Coleman to pick up his pace. "Nearly there. You know you weigh a tonne."

"Yeah well I have big bones. And a big cock," Coleman adds with a smirk in his voice.

Brittany grimaces in disgust and doesn't hesitate to drop the man in the dust at the bottom of Beiste's front steps.

"Stay here," she says making a deliberate effort to kick dust into his face on her way past. "Good dog," she adds with a smirk.

She runs up the stairs and knocks on the door.

There's shuffling on the other side of the door and then she's confronted again with a half dressed Doctor Beiste.

"I think someone needs to invest in a pocket watch boy," the doctor adds a particular emphasis on 'boy' and Brittany frowns.

"I have a pocket watch doc. But that guy needs you." She gestures to where Coleman has propped himself up against the edge of the doctor's front deck.

Dr Beiste leans far enough out the door to see Coleman's feet, "I'm not here to fix hangovers Pierce."

"He's not hung over," she explains.

"Then what's wrong with him?"

"I punched him in the face."

Beiste just blinks at her for a moment before she starts laughing hysterically. "I didn't know ya had it in ya Pierce. Well what in Sam Hell did he do to ya then?" she asks incredulous. She sees something in Brittany's expression. "Not you? Santana?" Beiste's expression looses some of it's humour. "What did he do to her?"

Brittany looks at Coleman again, "Can we maybe discuss this inside?"

Doctor Beiste's humour completely evaporates at that but she open the door all the same. "Come on then. Git inside before I change my mind."

Brittany moves inside quickly. Coleman does't need to hear any of the next conversation.

Beiste is about to close the door before she seems to remember the man outside and she leans out the door one more time. "We'll come back for you," she tells coleman's shoes before closing the door behind her and approaching Brittany. "Well, out with it. What happened? What did he do and what did you do to him?"

"I don't really understand all of it Doc," Brittany tells her honestly. "He paid for her but he said some things and after the day she had with me." Brittany tries her best to paraphrase what Santana had told her the night before. "She couldn't go through with it and he—he tried to force—" she couldn't get any further as anger boiled up inside her again.

The doctor still looked confused. "And this happened this mornin?"

"No. Last night. The negro on Ms Corcoran's staff tossed him out last night. Santana was so upset though so Ms Quinn had Kurt come get me from camp."

"So he's been outside Corcoran's since last night?" Doctor Beiste is still confused and Brittany knows she's missing something important.

"No. He came back this morning. I was a having a…discussion with Ms Corcoran and Coleman came in."

"So you punched him?" Beiste asks still confused.

"No," Brittany sighs, feeling frustrated. "He—he said some things that—I just reacted and suddenly then he was on the floor."

"Woah now," Beiste laughs. "You knocked him to the floor?"

"And kept hitting him after," Brittany admits looking at her boots rather than the doctor. Damn that guilt.

"Show us your knuckles then."

Brittany automatically holds her hands behind her back. She doesn't want anyone else to see her bruised hand. "It's fine," she says. "Shelby already took care of it. Said I missed his teeth."

Doctor Beiste gives her a peculiar look. "Ever hit anyone before?" she asks.

Brittany just shakes her head. Of course she hasn't. "I was just so angry. I couldn't—after what he did to her and things he said. I just—"

"Must be a natural," Beiste says and seeing Brittany's confusion she explains. "It aint easy to hit someone like that without doing damage to your hand. And if Shelby says your fine I'll believe her. So, you're a natural."

Brittany's heart sinks. "I don't want to be a natural. I just want to protect her."

"Santana," Beiste says for confirmation. She looks at Brittany for a long time as if searching for something. "What is she to you?" she finally asks.

Brittany doesn't know what to say. She's trusted this woman with so much already. She holds Brittany's livelihood, quite possibly her life in her hands. If Doctor Beiste reacts unfavourably then the damage done could be very bad.

Brittany sighs hoping her instincts are right, "She's everything."

Brittany's eyes snap up to the doctor's face when she doesn't respond straight away, suddenly scared that Beiste might be about to kick her out after all. That she might judge her and Santana for what they feel. Could Brittany have been wrong in her assessment of the woman after all?

The doctor finally nods as if already expecting her response. "So what's she feel for you?"

Brittany feels relief flood through her. "I know that she cares for me."

"As a friend?"

Brittany doesn't know how to answer. She just stares at her shoes as the kick at the floor boards and mumbles something about kisses and hands and bandages and corsets.

Doctor Beiste holds up two hands to silence her, "Okay, okay I got the picture."

Doctor Beiste's expression is thoughtful as she eventually looks back to Brittany. "So you love her?"

Brittany nods again.

"Well, I always thought that Santana developed a awful quick liking for you. I suppose that might be a certain affection too."

Brittany isn't quite sure what she means but the tone is positive and the nervous tightness of her gut finally releases and she lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding. The doctor doesn't judge them or condemn them.

Doctor Beiste jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "So why am I helping the son of a bitch that hurt your girl?"

"I—" Brittany is still not entirely sure. "I guess that I feel bad. Not for him but," she sighs. "For myself? I never wanted to hurt anyone. Now it seems like hurting is just here. It's a part of my life." She looks at Doctor Beiste seriously. "He deserved what he got," she says it with a vehemence that surprises them both. She sighs again, though it sounds more like a growl. "That doesn't mean I want people hurting. I know what it feels like to have someone treat your face like a punching bag."

Doctor Beiste nods and Brittany is glad that she seems to understand.

"Fine," Beiste says, turing back to the door. "Better help me bring him inside then."

— s — — b —

I practically run down the stairs toward Shelby's office. I regret for a second leaving my shoes behind but I'm too mad to do anything about it now. How dare Shelby send Brittany away from me like that. It's not right. It's not fair.

I storm through the door to find Shelby putting a bottle back in her liquor cabinet.

"A bit early don't you think Shelby?" I ask in a mocking tone.

"Not now Santana, I've had a trying morning and a lot of it to do with that boy of yours."

"Pierce. His name is Pierce and he is more than just some boy Shelby."

"I'm sure he means many things to you Santana but—"

"You shouldn't have kicked him out." My voice gets lower as the rage continues to build, thinking about how Brittany had held me last night. Thinking about how wrong it felt to not wake up with her beside me. Something inside me snaps.

And then I'm yelling.

I'm not really sure what words are coming from my mouth now I'm in such a rage. I might even be screaming in spanish. In fact, yes I am.

_"You think you can just take her away from me? Who do you think you are? You think you're better than her when she's the sweetest, most wonderful thing in this world. You're nothing but a—"_

"Enough!" Shelby shouts over me. She can't even understand me at this point but I only get angrier at her interruption.

My blood continues to boil as I think of Brittany leaving and of what Shelby might have said, what she _must_ have said to force Brittany to leave without saying goodbye. How dare she?

_Slap._

The sound rings out, incongruous to anything else in the room. My eyes widen and the anger that had brought my hand up to slap hard across Shelby's face dissipates almost immediately

Shelby's eyes are wide with shock as she brings her hand up to hold over the cheek that has a red, hand shaped mark. A mark that matches _my_ hand.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" I don't know what to say.

"No you shouldn't have," Shelby says turning back to her cabinet and retrieving the bottle she just put away and two glasses.

I gulp, feeling fear freeze the blood in my veins. Shelby is going to pour me a drink and then ask me to leave. I've finally crossed a line too far.

"Sit down Santana," Shelby says, calmly gesturing to the long seat by the window. I don't move but Shelby pours out two glasses of scotch before she says it again. "Sit down Santana. I'm not going to kick you out. Stop looking so terrified."

I relax fractionally. I'm not going to be lost in the world or forced to work somewhere else. I'll be okay.

I sit down heavily, looking up at Shelby with wide eyes. "I shouldn't have slapped you. I—I am so sorry." I stutter out the apology, praying that it sounds sincere.

Shelby waves away the apology as she hands me a rather full glass. "Do you really think a slap is the worst I've gotten from a girl?"

I honestly don't know.

"The answer is no," Shelby answers for me. "There's scars on my left arm to prove it but that's not what I'm talking about."

I suspect Shelby wants me to fill in the rest but I can only stare at her blankly as I cradle the cool scotch glass in both hands.

Shelby sighs. "I should appreciate it if you would curb the impulse to slap me in future." I nod quickly but she continues on. "You shouldn't have slapped me but more than that, you shouldn't have let that girl parade as a man, as a Trick without telling me." Shelby doesn't seem to notice that my heart has stopped. "I was caught completely unawares and that's just not acceptable. I need to know what is happening under this roof at all times and if you insist on—" Shelby cuts herself off when she finally looks at me.

I feel numb. Shelby knows. Does everyone know now? What will happen now? Will Brittany have to leave?

"Breath Santana." Shelby touches my arm, making me jump.

"Does everyone know?" I force out. "What happened?"

Shelby seems to realise what my fear is. "Oh, no Santana. No one else knows."

Now I can breath. I take a sip of the straight scotch, appreciating the burn. Now I know why Shelby gave it to me. Not a last drink but some kind of commiseration. But is that right? Shelby seems more concerned with my not telling her than anything else. She doesn't seemed in the least bit shocked to know that Brittany is a woman. Unless…

"When did you know?" I ask so quietly that I'm not sure Shelby could hear me.

Shelby gives me a look like she doesn't know why I need to ask.

I need to know. "If something gave her away we need to know."

Shelby nods. "Okay, well she hurt her hand and I had to look at it to make sure there wasn't any permanent damage. On their own it's not enough but with everything else," she gives me such a pointed look I can feel my heart beat quicken in my chest. "With what I know about you."

I take another drink from my glass. It's all a bit too much with the panic I've already felt for Brittany, for this as well. Shelby knows things about me. Things that I didn't even know until a few days ago. How could she know? What gave me away? Does everyone know now? Is it because of what I know I feel for Brittany now? Is it permanent. I could push Brittany away, never see her again. I could work and go back to my life like nothing has ever happened and no one ever needs to know about it.

I could cut Brittany out of my life and never see her smile at me again. I could never see that sparkle in her eyes when she talks about something beautiful. I could never feel her body against mine or her hands on my waist ever again. I could, I could.

Shelby is still talking but I barely hear her, "Putting all the pieces together could really only lead me to one conclusion."

"That I'm some unnatural thing that can't even…" I can't finish without crying. Shelby was right to send Brittany away, to remove her from me. I don't deserve her. I don't deserve her smile. The things I feel every time that she touches me…

"Santana," Shelby laughs through my name, forcing me to look at her. "This is hardly unnatural."

I look at her like she's mad.

She looks at me the same way. "You really think you're unique Santana? I know you like to think that you're a precious snow flake and in some things you are but not in this."

She's teasing again and absurdly it works in calming me. Then another horrible thought occurs to me. "Oh God, does Brittany know you know? Is that why she left?"

"Brittany is a smart girl. Extremely odd but she cares for you a great deal so I suppose that's a given," she teases me with a nudge to my arm as she tops up my drink.

I try to smile but mostly fail. I still don't know how it's possible that Brittany does care for me. She said she wants me. She protects me and listens and cares. I just don't know why.

"Brittany left because I asked her to and she was smart enough to realise that I wasn't giving her a choice.

"But why?" I'm whining now but I can't seem to help it. My emotions are too scattered for me to have any real control over my voice.

"She's effecting my business that's why," Shelby says shortly as though it's obvious.

I suppose it is. I can't help the nagging doubt. If Shelby knows about Brittany then surely it's only a matter of time before more people figure it out.

"I need to help her," I say, forgetting what any of this could mean for me. She is more important. I could never walk away from her.

"Well, I'd imagine you already have since there's hardly any other soldiers that can say they're actually having sex." I roll my eyes but Shelby doesn't notice as she looks thoughtfully into her own untouched glass.

"I doubt any of the other soldiers are paying that much attention—"

"Oh believe me," Shelby interrupts with a laugh. "They are even if they don't say as much. I wonder if they're waiting on pay packets and that's why more of them haven't visited yet."

Of course Shelby's thoughts would turn straight back to the business.

"You could always tell as many Soldiers as can hear that Brent is a wonderful lover."

My eyes widen and I feel my cheeks heat. "Wha—But, I couldn't do that." I've never boasted about a Trick before. I couldn't.

"Well if you're sleeping together anyway" shelby says. "It would only help Pierce's reputation and maybe get a few more of the boys in here."

"We're not having sex," I say automatically.

Shelby looks at me curiously. "Why on earth not?" She asks the question exactly like Quinn did.

Before I can answer a noise draws my attention to the door and my heart almost stops. Sugar is standing in the doorway with one hand on her hip and that excited curiosity in her eye.

Sugar cocks her head to one side, "Yeah Kitten, why ever not?" Sugar has that gleam in her eye that says she has a secret. One that she can't wait to share with every person she sees.

— s — — b —

Brittany approaches Lieutenant Anderson's tent nervously. She knows that she wants to start training again as soon as possible. Doctor Beiste says she can start some light training and she means to take full advantage of that. She also knows that she'll probably have to show Anderson her right hand. She'll also have to explain at least some of what happened. There were plenty of people who saw Kurt retrieve her last night. Everyone saw Brittany run from camp and straight into town.

With all this in mind she stops outside the tent and stares at the flaps separating herself from inside. She debates knocking or calling out. She looks at the plaque hanging from the pole that marks Anderson's tent from the rest. It seems appropriate to knock against it.

Before she can raise her fist to the right hight she hears giggling from inside the tent. Both Brittany's eyebrows raise as she registers two male voices inside. Both are familiar in some way. She knocks quickly so she doesn't accidentally hear any more. Both voices stop instantly and there's a great deal of shuffling on the other side as well as hurried whispers.

Brittany grins as she recognises Kurt's voice. She clears her throat. "Er, Lieutenant. It's just me, Private Pierce. I can come back at another time but I feel I should tell you that most of the men will be waking soon and I think that maybe you should take the opportunity to—"

She's cut off as her Lieutenant appears suddenly in front of her. He steps out of the tent and pulls the canvas behind him, obviously trying to hide the man inside.

"What are you here for Brent?" he asks hurriedly.

Brittany's brows go up in question.

"Um, Private Pierce?" Anderson amends hurriedly.

It's still not quite his standard address but Brittany lets it go. "You said to come see you as soon as the doc gives me the go ahead to start training. Well here I am." Brittany holds her hands out on either side as though presenting her good health.

"Oh, okay then I guess we should get started." Anderson finally lets go of the canvas of his tent and steps away.

Brittany doesn't move. "But don't you want to say good bye to Kurt?" she asks with a twitch of her lips that doesn't quite hide her mischievous smirk.

There is a yelp from inside the tent and Anderson's eyes get impossibly wide.

Suddenly Kurt's head appears. "Oh hi Brent," he says in something nearly like a casual tone. "I was just visiting your fine camp this morning and your fine lieutenant—I mean Lieutenant Anderson here offered to give me a tour."

Brittany just can't help herself. "Of his pants?" she asks, biting her tongue straight after.

Kurt's eyes go impossibly wide as he and Anderson both stutter through the worst explanations imaginable.

Brittany laughs and holds up both hands to get them to stop. "Sorry, sorry. I shouldn't have said that. No one will hear it from me but I think you guys are really cute together. Like a double rainbow of wonderful." Her heart is squeezing in her chest again as she thinks how lucky people can be sometimes.

Anderson shares a look with Kurt that is half worried half loving.

Brittany looks between them. "How long have you known each other?" she asks, suddenly suspicious.

"I er—" Anderson begins.

Kurt finishes for him. "About a week actually. But you know how these things go don't you Brent."

Brittany knows he's talking about Santana and can't help the blush that floods her cheeks. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Anderson frowns at her which causes Kurt to frown at him.

"Wait, Santana's Brent is that soldier?" Kurt asks incredulously.

Anderson looks between the two of them then looks at his boots, his cheeks burning red.

Kurt's chest puffs up and Brittany is reminded of a disgruntled pigeon.

Brittany looks between them for a moment before she understands. Anderson must have had something of an interest in Brent. She can't help but feel a certain flattery on behalf of her male counterpart.

"Oh, I er. Sorry Lieutenant—" she tries to make him feel less self conscious but doesn't know how to do that.

"No, no. It's not what you er—" Lieutenant Anderson is blushing hotly and can't seem to come up with any real excuses.

Brittany decides to take the easiest option and knocks a firm fist against Anderson's upper arm. It's as manly a gesture as she can manage as she lets him off the hook. "I guess it's luck that we're both taken men eh Lieutenant?" she jokes with a tense voice.

Brittany can see Kurt and Anderson both relax fractionally.

She doesn't know why but she holds out a hand to Kurt to shake his hand. His eyes go wide when he sees the patchwork of grazes and discolouration on her knuckles and he grabs her hand to turn it over. She tries to tug it back but he doesn't let her.

"My god!" he exclaims. "What did you do? Punch a wall?"

Brittany clears her throat awkwardly. "Er, no. Mr Coleman."

"He came back?" Kurt shrieks incredulously before glancing around and lowering the volume of his voice. "Damn it Pierce, you're lucky he didn't decide to shoot you."

Brittany hadn't thought of that and she's suddenly very glad she decided to help Coleman to the doc's place so there wouldn't be so much hard feeling between them. She's pretty sure he doesn't want to shoot her. Any more.

Kurt still has her hand. "You did this for Santana? You're lucky you didn't break you hand."

"I just want to protect her. I didn't know I could break my hand. I've never hit anyone before. Not even a punching bag."

Kurt huffs out a laugh. "A natural then," he says causing Brittany to frown.

Anderson is looking thoughtful. "You've never been in a fight before?"

Brittany shakes her head as Kurt finally releases her hand.

"But you want to protect this girl of yours." It's a statement, not a question.

"She's the most important thing in my my life." It's more earnest a declaration than the conversation really demands but she can't help it.

Anderson nods, side eyeing Kurt before he continues. "Then you're going to learn to fight. If that's what you want."

Brittany knows that he really is giving her a choice. She also knows that there is no real choice. She would never want violence for herself but she understands that there is violence in the world.

She nods, agreeing as she always will to anything to do with Santana. Anything to keep her safe.

— s — — b —


	18. What Happens Now? Part 2

AN: And here's part two of 'What Happens Now?'

I'll tell you now that the next Chapter has a lot going on and might take a little while longer to come through. Never fear though. I plan on making it worth the wait. Check my Tumblr (which is linked on ze profile page) for updates and if you have any questions.

_naynay1963 owes me two disposed pairs of crocs._

* * *

Sugar pushes off from the wall and walks casually into Shelby's office. "If he was my soldier boy I wouldn't hesitate to have me a taste of that stringy virgin."

My heart finally restarts in my chest but feels like it's forgotten it's natural rhythm. My whole body is thrumming with nervous energy as I realise that Sugar just said soldier 'boy'. She mustn't have heard anything to suggest we were talking about a girl. I think over the end of my conversation with Shelby and I'm even more sure.

"What are you dong here and how long have you been eaves dropping?"

Sugar adopts a mock offended look. "I don't need to be dropping anything to hear _all_ about that boy and how he's yet to get a taste of Kitten's lovelies."

"Don't be so crude," Shelby scolds.

I feel like I could pull Sugar's hair out for the fright she's given me. In fact I will. I jump from the chair and rush toward Sugar who flinches back far enough that she's actually back outside the office. My hands are practically claws as I reach for her but find I can't go any further. Shelby has locked my arms behind my back and is pulling me back to the seat by the window. I curse myself for being such weak, little girl but let my body relax into the chair again.

Shelby points one finger at me to keep me in my seat as she draws Sugar inside again and closes the door behind her.

"Sit down behind my desk Sugar and don't touch anything."

"But I don't—"

"Just sit!" Shelby yells, impatient before lowering her voice again. "Sugar please just take a seat."

I scowl at Sugar who just shrugs one shoulder and smiles back at me.

"Honestly Santana," Sugar starts again. "If you don't want him then I'll be glad to take a piece."

I honestly can't help the growl that rips up my throat, "Stay the hell away from him Sugar."

Shelby looks at me disapprovingly. "Santana, you can't be getting territorial around any Trick. That's not how this works." Shelby's tone brooks no argument.

Sugar's eyes really light up. "So you do want him?" she asks. "But he's so precious you don't want to risk breaking him?" she laughs as though I've somehow confirmed her ridiculous theory. "Oh, I can't wait to tell everyone." She waves her hand through the air, following it with her eyes as if reading a newspaper headline. "Kitten's appetite, tamed by one virgin's quiet, shy boy routine."

I'm ready to silence Sugar by any means necessary but Shelby gets in before I have to.

"No Sugar, you're not to tell anyone anything. Your also going to refrain from propositioning Pierce. That goes for all the girls. You can spread the word on that if you like."

I'm completely surprised by that one. Is Shelby really protecting Brittany? Is she protecting me?

Shelby continues, looking between Sugar and I. "In fact as far as anyone else is concerned, Brent Pierce has had a very satisfactory experience with Santana. Every experience he's had at the House has in fact been the best of his life." She points at me specifically. "Pierce is to make that understood around camp as well."

I roll my eyes. Of course Shelby is just thinking about the business again. Sugar still looks a little confused but I know that she'll do what Shelby asks her to.

Shelby looks at Sugar. "We both know that Santana will bed this boy eventually."

I cross my arms over my chest with a huff as Sugar smirks at me.

"I need you to go with Santana when she visits with Pierce. You can talk to as many soldiers as possible and make sure they know that a good time can be had at Corcorans."

"No, absolutely not," I say immediately. What can Shelby be thinking? "Quinn maybe."

"Excellent, it's settled then," Shelby smirks and I know I've been played. She new I would suggest Quinn over Sugar, inadvertently agreeing. That sneaky bitch really is very good.

I cross my legs and fold into myself even more tightly. It's not fair. I can feel the pout forming on my lips as my brow creases but I don't care.

Sugar apparently agrees with Shelby. "Excellent. I think I like Kitten with Pierce. She smiles more." She glances at my currently displeased state. "Normally."

I huff again and wonder where I put that scotch glass. I think I put it somewhere when I was preparing to throttle Sugar. Or Shelby took it from me maybe.

Shelby just laughs. "Don't be like that Santana. You know I only have your best interests at heart."

"You mean the House's best interest," I grumble petulantly.

"And what's best for the House is best for you," she tells me in a lecturing tone because yes, she has explained this before and yes, I know this very well.

"You can go with Quinn to see him now if you want."

I'm confused. "Just like that? You kick him out of the House and then let me go see him anyway?"

"Just like that," she says spreading her arms in an open gesture. "I'm not here to keep you apart. And you can do what you like on your own time. Brent is of course still welcome to come back and _pay_ for whatever services he pleases."

She can't seem to help herself adding the last part and it actually makes me smile.

"I maintain that he isn't good enough for you.

So much for that smile.

"But I really think he will be."

Oh.

"You're both so young Santana." She sits down so she can look at me seriously. "You both have a lot to learn. That boy has a good head on his shoulders. And…I think he can make you happy one day. Just not yet. Now go see him before he hits any more of my customers."

She smiles and I laugh because we both know that Brittany wouldn't hurt a fly without serious provocation. For better or worse, I know that what she did was for me.

— s — — b —

I find Quinn in our room reading through a new pamphlet. Or possibly one of the old ones Rachel gave her. She's been prone to rereading everything Rachel gave her lately. She's even demanded I ask Rachel if she had any more material(just don't tell Rachel that it was Quinn asking). I flat out refused, telling Quinn that she's have to speak with the midget herself.

There's no one else in our room so Mercedes must still be upstairs.

I slap Quinn's thigh. "Get up. Shelby says you have to come with me to see Sweets." I continue on my hunt for a blouse and overskirt as she lets the pamphlet fall against her chest.

"I doubt that's exactly what she said," Quinn says. "Besides, isn't Brit—"

I leap back to her side and cover her mouth with my hand, all too aware that Sugar or any other one of the girls could be hanging around to hear our conversation. Quinn looks highly affronted.

"I need to go see _him_," I say quickly in a firm tone.

Understanding lights Quinn's eyes so I let go of her mouth and go back to pulling on my skirt and smoothing my hair.

Quinn eyes the closed door, finally putting the pamphlet aside and standing from the bed. "What happened?"

"Sugar came to see Shelby," I explain briefly.

Quinn shakes her head, "That girl is going to get herself into trouble with the things she 'accidentally' overhears."

I have to agree. "I thought I was going to murder her personally but lucky for her those wandering ears missed the more damaging parts. We just have to be more careful.

"So is that why we're going to see Pierce now? Because he needs to know we all need to be more careful?"

I hesitate. No that's not why I need to see Brittany. She's been Brent for a long time without anyone finding out. I'm sure she understands discretion. "I just need to see him," I say giving Quinn no further time for questions as I get the last of my buttons done. "I'll be in the Saloon waiting."

Quinn huffs as she finds her own blouse but I know she'll be quick.

— s — — b —

Quinn doesn't know what to do with this new Santana. She likes how she smiles more and laughs more but there is this dependence on Pierce that Quinn finds unsettling. What if something does happen to the girl? What if the Company leaves without notice? Where will Santana be then? And how can she work? If Shelby plans on putting Santana back on the floor she's going to need some of those emotions sorted out first. What happened with Coleman can't happen again. And Pierce certainly can't go around punching Tricks every time one of them treats Santana poorly.

Quinn is dressed quickly and she joins Santana in the Saloon.

"Do you know where we're going?" Quinn asks as Santana leads her out the door and onto the street. It's a beautiful morning but that doesn't mean Quinn is willing to be pulled around an army camp all day. "Have you been to he—his tent before?" Quinn almost slips on the pronoun and she wonders how Santana manages to keep things straight.

Santana nods. "I brought Sweets back to his tent after he saw Beiste that morning."

Of course. Santana had come back to the House looking like she was punch drunk. Quinn had suspected a dose of laudanum but she would suppose now that Santana had been experiencing the effects of time with Brittany rather than opium.

She tries to feel glad for her friend rather than sad for herself.

"So what am I here for?" she asks curiously.

"Just like I said. Shelby insists I take someone with me if I go to the Camp." she seems to hesitate on the edge of saying something else.

"What else San?" Quinn prompts.

"She also suggested that I try to boost Brent's reputation with the other men." Her cheeks flush red leaving Quinn in little doubt as to what she really means.

"Why would Shelby suggest that?"

Santana huffs. "I want to help Brent. You saw his bruises. That's just one part of the horrible way the other men treat him."

Quinn can imagine.

"Also Shelby wants to see more of the soldiers at Corcorans."

Quinn rolls her eyes. "Of course. So is that why I'm coming? To help you talk up Brent's prowess?"

Santana's lip curls in an expression that Quinn imagines matches her own. "I really don't know Q."

Quinn is glad when the Camp finally comes into view so she can stop imagining Brittany in any other capacity than the sweet boy—or girl that loves Santana to pieces.

Santana approaches the first man that she sees, swaying her hips in a way similar to how she does in the Saloon. It's not quite right though. The sway of her hips and the flick of her hair are just a little off like she isn't quite feeling the seduction. Quinn doesn't understand at all. She would have thought that being loved would make Santana feel more beautiful or at least make it easier to appear alluring. Right now Santana just looks…awkward.

Quinn moves after her quickly when she realises that she might need to run interference sooner rather than later. She only hears a part of Santana's fabrication but it's enough to make Quinn blush red in embarrassment for the girl.

Santana is talking in a breathy voice not at all like her own. "—if Brent hadn't left such an," her performance only gets worse as she adds an elongated pause. "_Impact_ on me from going all night I could service so many more men right—"

"_Santana!_" Quinn interrupts hoping to smooth over her words quickly. She turns to the—dear God—_boy_ that Santana has picked as her first victim. "That is, Santana here is right about Brent." Quinn catches the soldier's attention and she prays that Santana will just shut the hell up. He looks about sixteen and ready to implode. "Brent has exhausted the both of us but we need to find him to invite him to return. On behalf of the other girls, of course. I'm sure you understand and can direct us to his whereabouts." She lets a command enter her voice as she links her arm with Santana's.

The soldier looks at Santana like she is a lunatic and at Quinn like she could be insane by association alone. "Ah sure, if you follow down that way," he directs behind him. "And hang a right at the end you should find him in the mess."

Quinn gives him the sweetest, sanest smile she can muster, even laying a hand on his arm for good measure. "Thank you very much," she says, looking at him through her lashes. She loops her arm around Santana's waist and pinches her side when she finds Santana to be standing to stiff attention. Santana shifts to mould more naturally into Quinn's side and Quinn moves her hand from the boys arm to petting down Santana's. She looks at him, biting down on her lower lip slightly before she politely adds, "Thank you very much. I hope we can see you at Corcoran's soon."

For some ungodly reason Santana decides to speak. "There are lots of girls with great mouths to—"

Quinn stomps hard on Santana's foot before talking quickly over the end of her sentence. "You're so sweet, I'm sure the girls will love to just gobble you up." She says it with a flirtatious grin, winking at the boy for good measure.

Quinn then drags a hobbling Santana past the boy before any more damage can be done.

— s — — b —

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Quinn growls at me from the side of her mouth.

"I don't know!" Even I can hear the distressed whimper in my voice. I've never put on such an awful performance. And I've had to play the part of temptress for _all_ kinds of men.

Even before I had the benefit of experience, I was at least able to pull off a sweet, innocent kind of seduction. Whatever that was with that poor boy was inexcusable.

"If you're losing your touch Santana, I"m going to have to tell Shelby," Quinn says in a rushed voice. "That was just embarrassing."

I groan, lifting a hand to rub over my face. "I know that. I just don't know what the hell got into me."

"Or didn't get into you," Quinn mumbles in an undertone that I'm obviously not meant to catch.

I disconnect my arm from Quinn's so I can slap lightly at her shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"I think you know," Quinn gives me a pointed look.

"No I need you to explain." I drag Quinn into the gap behind the nearest tent so I can face her when she says whatever it is she's thinking. "If you understand what's going on here then please explain because I don't have a God damned clue." I can feel my cheeks heat as I admit, "I don't really understand much of anything right now."

Quinn looks to either side. There are a fews soldiers around but none within ear shot. "Fine," she grumbles. "You need to have sex, San."

I feel my face burn and I wonder if this morning could get any worse. "I don't understand Q." I cross my arms across my chest, suddenly very unwilling to be in this conversation.

Quinn rolls her eyes. "You haven't had sex with Pierce yet right? And don't lie to me," she adds pointing squarely at my chest.

I give a shrug which she doesn't bother to acknowledge as she goes on.

"That's the only explanation I have for that performance back there. Do you have any idea what you looked like? It was worse than Sugar's first time on the floor."

I snort at the memory and then feel my face pale. "Oh, God. It really was that awful wasn't it?"

Quinn nods, obviously glad that I finally grasp her meaning. "Which leads me to my next conclusion…" she says waving her hand in a way to say that I could finish her sentence.

I know what she wants me to say. "I can't just have sex with her Quinn." I say it low and quick so no one will overhear.

"Why not?" Quinn looks like she wants to point out some obvious truth that I must be missing. "Think about it Santana. Think about the way she looks at you. The way you look at her. The way you look right now just _talking_ about her."

"It's not like I don't want to," I admit, still in a hushed voice. I really do after all but it's not that simple. We haven't exactly talked about it but I'm fairly certain that Brittany is a virgin. Meanwhile I'm… what I am. What if I scare her away. What if I rush her or worse, what if I can't even make her feel good. It's not like I have any experience there really. Men are easy. All I know about women is what I've learned from my own body. That doesn't mean all women are exactly the same. I could make a fool of myself. What if Brittany decided she didn't want me after all?

Quinn's eyes widen as she must read the panic on my face. She grabs both my hands. "Woah, what just happened? You look like you're about to run, screaming for the hills. Are you worried someone is going to find out? We're whores San, it's not like anyone's opinions of us can really get much worse."

Oh, and that's just another thing to worry about. If anyone finds out I could lose her forever. She would be discharged, she could go to jail. She could be killed…

"What if something happened to her Q? It would all be my fault."

"What?" Quinn looks at me like I'm crazy and I'm beginning to feel like she could be right. Quinn squeezes both my hands. "Hey, you didn't make any of this happen. Brent put on that uniform long before he met you."

I nod slowly but can't help the feeling that things could go terribly badly if we were ever to slip up in front of the wrong person. Just at that moment, a soldier rushes past the gap where we're hiding as if to underline the thought.

Quinn must understand what I'm thinking because she just nods and leads me back out onto the main path and in the direction the young soldier had told us to go.

— s — — b –

We have to ask for direction twice again but I let Quinn handle the questions both times. She flirts easily with open handed touches while I stand by her shoulder trying to not look insane.

I'm following behind her until I see a tent with a large, hand painted sign hanging from a pole labelling it as the mess. I rush forward with Quinn in tow, pushing past the queue of men waiting for their breakfast.

The funny thing about men—and soldiers are no different—is that individually, without an audience they are perfectly capable of being cordial, even treating girls like Quinn and I with something like respect. Get them in a group like this and suddenly the women in the room are nothing but bodies to be lusted after and hollered at. Neither Quinn nor I flinch under the attention that we're unfortunately accustomed to.

I spot Sam dishing out the meat and eggs as he glances up to find the source of all the noise. His eyes widen when he sees me and they grow to comical proportions when he sees Quinn. I roll my eyes. Does he think the tent will spontaneously combust in flames of mortal sin if there are _two_ whores inside? I try to remind myself that this boy is Brittany's friend when I ask him very politely where Brent is.

He glances warily at Quinn. "He's in back cleaning up prep."

I thank him as I move quickly through the canvas divider and into another room that smells like dirt, grass and potatoes. Natural light spills in from the back of the tent where I find Brittany stacking pots and pans.

The noise of the other men complaining about our departure draws Brittany's attention from the pots in her hands. Her smile is radiant when she sees me and I feel the beating of my heart grow steadily quicker as I see it.

I step forward far enough to allow Quinn to follow and the canvas falls between us and the soldiers. Everything slows down as the air between us seems to heat. The light that breaks through the open canvas show a dancing swirl of particles suspended in the air. The lightest breeze tugs at the loose strands of blonde around Brittany's face. She's so beautiful. The smile that I trace with my eyes is new and even more than _that_ smile. The way she looks at me… I feel adored.

I move to cross the space between us and Brittany lets the pots fall with a clattering bang as she rushes to meet me half way. She pulls me immediately into a tight embrace and I fall into her arms with the feeling of returning home. I breathe her in like a drowning man breathes in his last breath. I missed her in the time we were apart this morning. I think I even missed her while I slept and she wasn't in my dreams.

The strength in her arms and the way she holds me tight lets me know that Brittany feels the same way. She kisses my forehead and I lean in so I can kiss her neck.

I hear Quinn move past us but I don't look up even as she tells me in a morose voice that she'll wait outside.

I can feel Brittany nuzzling my hair and running her fingers through the ends. The action is becoming so familiar already even as it sends the inevitable thrill down my spine.

"I'm so sorry," she mumbles.

I laugh because what could she have to be sorry for.

"I didn't want to leave you,"

Oh, that. "I know that was Shelby," I say to explain that she doesn't need to worry.

Her arms stiffen slightly around me. "What did they tell you?" Her voice is full of nerves and I pull back to see her face.

What could she possibly be nervous about? What she did to Coleman? She beat him to a pulp the way Quinn describes it because of the things that he did to me and said about me.

"It's okay," I say into her shoulder holding her tighter to me. "Quinn told me about Coleman and it's okay."

Brittany relaxes fractionally against me. "So you're not…afraid of me?"

I laugh again and tilt my head so I can nudge my nose against her chin and kiss her neck again. "Does is seem like I'm afraid of you Sweets?"

She hums a contented sigh. "I guess not," she murmurs, finally relaxing.

"I'll admit, I am worried for you though."

"Of what Coleman will do to me? I think it will be okay. I took him to Beiste after."

What? I lean back so I can see her face.

"I found him lying in the dirt outside Corcorans and I couldn't just leave him there," Brittany explains like it's obvious. "It gave me a chance to explain. Besides, I think he's too arrogant to admit that a skinny boy like me got the best of him," she grins roguishly. "He can only tell people that a gang of bandits came after him if he stays away from me."

I laugh and shake my head in absolute awe of this woman. She really is just too good to be true. She can only be an angel. I know that Shelby somehow thinks she's not worthy of me but what I know in this exact instant is that not a single person I have ever met will ever be worthy of her. I can only hope that she doesn't notice how flawed I really am.

She tilts her head to the side in an adorable inquiry. I can't help but smile up at her. Her expression changes until it's mirroring mine, the easy smile then transitioning quickly into that confident smile I love. My knees suddenly go weak and I wonder when _the_ smile started having _that_ effect on me. Or at least I could wonder if I wasn't so thoroughly distracted by kissing her.

My hands shift from her shoulders to the back of her neck, threading into her hair and demanding more from each kiss. I take what I want as she readily gives me everything. Brittany's hands roam my back, drifting lower but never quite as low as I'd like. The thought alone of where her hands might go sends a thrill through me and I moan into her mouth. God, I can't begin to comprehend the effect she has on me.

I feel her smile and I don't care how appropriate or otherwise my thoughts might be. Brittany can have all of me. I'm a mess for her but I also know that she's the one to keep me together. Whatever she wants from me, it's hers and more.

There is a movement behind us and I jump away from her, my head snapping around to see who walked in. My heart is beating fast enough to run from my chest and my fingertips are tingling. I don't know what I'm scared of specifically but I feel a surge of relief at seeing Sam's blushing face pointed toward the ground as he apologises profusely. It's only Brittany's friend.

"What's the matter Sam?" Brittany asks in her Brent voice. Her tone is easy and commanding and I love it.

I wonder if her pummelling of Coleman has anything to do with this new level of confidence. I know that Quinn would be horrified if I ever admitted how much I liked it. There's just something… It's like everyday that I see her marks a new level of her confidence. Even after her own beating by those soldiers, as soon as she looked at me with _that_ smile I knew she could do anything. The way Brittany talks to Sam now as if she just knows that she is the equal of any man, I just can't help but find it…enthralling. I have no choice any more. The way she pulls me in is inevitable, like the moon is drawn inevitably after the sun.

Sam ducks out of the room and Brittany returns her attention to me. She draws me back into her arms and I gulp down the dryness that afflicts my throat at the look she pins me with. Her eyes and her smile are so sure I feel painfully aware of the way that I jumped away from her just moments ago.

"I'm sorry Britt."

Brittany's smile drops into a confused frown. "Why? What could you have to be sorry for?"

"The way I jumped away from you like I shouldn't be seen with you I—"

"Hey, no it's okay. We were a little…occupied. I'm not real keen on the idea of any man in the company walking in on us like that either."

I feel terrible because my fears go so much further than just the Company. I'm so scared that everyone will find out. Not just about us together but us together as we really are. My greatest fear is that Brittany's identity will be discovered. The worst thing is that I know a substantial part of that fear is selfish. I don't know if I could handle other people knowing what _I_ feel for this woman.

"I'm just so scared Brittany," I admit finally. It's a small admission really but it feels like so much more.

She's silent for such a long moment that I have to look up to see her eyes. They're warm and full of affection.

"Too scared to be with me?" She starts to look so worried that it breaks my heart.

I rush forward to press my lips and body against hers, hoping to inject every ounce of passion and want as I have into the embrace. "I want to be with you," I whisper into her mouth once we're both breathing heavily again. "I just—I can't put you in any more danger." I pull back enough to see clear blue again.

"There's no more danger than there ever was for me San. This doesn't change anything."

"But what if people find out Britt? Sugar could have overheard everything this morning."

"We just have to be careful Santana. Everything will be okay."

I nod, trying to hold the comfort of her words to my heart. Her hand pushes through my hair and I relax into the touch. The feel of her fingers is soothing and pulls at the building ache inside me.

"Santana?" Brittany says. I adore the way that she says my name.

I hum a half response as she lets her forehead connect with my temple and my eyes flutter shut.

"You do believe me right?"

I open my eyes again so I can see her face. Her hand starts to drift away from my hair but I take it and hold her palm against my cheek. I hum a question as I kiss the edge of her hand.

"Do you trust me?" she asks through a sigh.

"With my life." I say it without thought and the gravity of those words startle me but I know that they're the truth.

Brittany smiles in her new way. The way that makes me feel like I am the only person she sees in the world.

I kiss her hand again and she draws me toward her, pressing her lips against mine in another chaste kiss.

"Then trust that I know we can do this. We just need to be careful. So long as we are, I promise that everything will be okay." She hesitates with an audible gasp when I smile at her. "No matter what happens," she says and I feel pinned down by the intensity in her eyes. "No matter what happens we will be together."

My eyes flutter shut again as she connects our lips and her free hand finds my other cheek to draw me more firmly into her. I follow willingly, my own hands slipping back around her waist to hold against her shoulders.

I don't want to stop kissing her but I still need to know. I have to ask, "But if I have to go back to work Brittany…"

She sighs when she hears her full name, leaning back to look in my eyes. "I understand what you do Santana," she says it so seriously.

I'm surprised to see anger in her eyes. I don't know if it's directed at me or the Tricks. Either way, I hate that I've made her feel that way.

"I don't like—I can't stand the thought of—" she cuts herself off as she seems to bite back the surge of anger. "Those men that have and could hurt you. I can't say that the thought of those brutes touching you doesn't make me—"

I surge forward to taste her lips. There's a bitter edge to her words that frighten me and I need to chase it away. She kisses me back and eventually softens. She even smiles as I nip at her lower lip with my teeth and I make a mental note to try that trick again later.

With her smile and her eyes finally relieved of anger she starts again. "I understand that you need to work at Corcorans and I'm here for you if anything happens. I want to keep you safe but if I can't then I trust that you will do whatever you can to keep _yourself_ safe." She runs a fingertip from my neck down to the left side of my chest, over my heart. "I need you to keep this safe." I can see the muscles of her throat ripple as she gulps. "I need you to keep your heart safe…for me?"

It's a question. She's asking me if I'll keep my heart _for_ her. It's more than I thought I could be willing to concede. My body she can have. My thoughts, I always give gladly. My heart though…she's had it since the day I first woke in her arms. I just don't know if I'm brave enough to admit it. I've never had to think about this before. My heart was always safely locked away as my own. I didn't even know there was any other way. I never knew that someone else could take it. If I had, I might have been prepared.

I think of wishing places and magical, liquid light. I think of blue eyes and looking up I see _that_ smile. I realise I'm crying quiet tears and I swallow once before even trying to speak. I try to say…something before realising there never was anything to say. I smile crookedly up at her nodding rapidly. I'll keep my heart for her. Until she is ready and able to claim it for her own.

— s — — b —

I know I have to leave. I know that Brittany has work to do, just like I do but it's still hard. I kiss her one more time only to have her lean in to kiss me one more time as well. One more quick kiss becomes one more drawn out, embrace with Brittany's tongue brushing mine. I melt into her every time and it's only harder to let go.

It takes another five minutes at least for me to reach the open entrance to the tent and another six kisses before I can bring myself to look outside. Quinn is nowhere to be seen so I turn back to give Brittany one more kiss. She giggles and slips her hands over my hips once more. She knows as well as I do what one more kiss really is and I wrap my arms around her neck accordingly.

I nip at her bottom lip again and get the happy smile I was expecting. Feeling a certain accomplishment at learning something new I finally step out of Brittany's arms and into the open. She frowns slightly and I lean in to place a kiss at the edge of her lips. Her smile returns and I'm finally able to step out of her reach. I still can't see Quinn but Sam comes into view behind Brittany and I know our time is officially over.

"I'll see you on Wednesday night," Brittany says a little breathlessly.

I nod, grinning and thinking about what song I could sing for her. It couldn't be too obvious but if it was something that she would know that I sang for her and just her…

"I'll see you then Sweets."

Brittany shoots me that confident smile and I almost lose my resolve. Thankfully Brittany has better self control than I do and she turns to go back inside. I sigh as I walk away, hoping that Quinn will just magically appear in front of me.

* * *

AN: Hands up, who wants their very own Brittany Pierce to take home?

Yeah, me too.


	19. By Sun And Moon

AN: Long chapter. Late night that became early morning upload...I think you know how I operate by now. Oh and 18 thousand words are so much fun to edit. Haaahahaa... Ah, maniacal laughter.

I humbly offer you chapter 19, By Sun And Moon.

* * *

I walk away feeling incredibly light. I don't want to leave but I know there's no choice. There's comfort in knowing that Brittany will be thinking of me and I'll be thinking of her.

I walk through a few rows of tents wondering how on earth I'm meant to find Quinn when she's clearly wandered so far. The whole camp is radiant with the morning light reflecting from the canvas tents and I have to squint against the glare. I can almost feel the light pouring into me and I think of our clearing and the liquid light. The warmth that I felt watching Brittany dance settles in my chest even as I walk away from her.

I consider returning to Corcorans to wait for Quinn there but then I can hear Rachel Hudson. The major's wife is yelling words that I can't quite make out muffled by distance and at least one layer of canvas. I do hear Quinn's name though. Thinking of how morose Quinn has grown since her decision to separate herself from the other girl I follow Rachel's voice back to the source.

Rachel stops yelling before I get close enough to hear what she's saying but I keep following the same path until I can hear Quinn's huskier tones close by.

"…Can't do this again with you Rachel. I don't care about you or what you think we had." Quinn's voice is cold enough to make me shiver.

She appears like an icy wind as she storms from a tent that must surely be the Major's. I stumble to a halt, having no clue how to approach. Even from a distance I can see Quinn's eyes are like a cold as a frosted morning, harsh and crystalline. Rachel pursues her into the morning sunlight and I can see there are tears on her cheeks as she pleads with Quinn not to leave. If Quinn is the icy frost then Rachel is the fire; all heated, raw emotion.

"Please Quinn, nothing has to end if you would just stop being so stubborn and explain to me what's wrong," Rachel continues, begging now.

I feel a pang of guilt since I had promised Rachel an explanation for their abrupt separation. Now she looks so confused and hurt while I stand here knowing that Quinn is resolute. Rachel continued her please more quietly so her words fail to reach me. Whatever she's saying must finally be reaching Quinn.

Seeing the hurt breaking through Quinn's brittle mask of composure I have to wonder what Rachel is really doing here. How can she pursue Quinn so readily when her husband must surely be somewhere close by? It doesn't seem fair that Quinn should be pursued so earnestly for nothing more than friendship.

Quinn must feel the same way because she rounds on Rachel abruptly, anger and frustration clear in the line of her shoulders and straight of her back. I see her fingers twitch and I'm suddenly very sure that Rachel is about to get slapped.

"Quinn, there you are," I let my voice carry. The tone doesn't come close to matching my words but it gets Quinn's attention as I approach the two quickly.

Her eyes snap to mine and I can see tears shimmering there, the crystal surface finally made liquid by Rachel's incessant heat. I feel my anger rise against Rachel; this stranger that entered our lives and disrupted them so easily. It's not fair that Quinn should be so hurt by this little woman. Who is she? Should I have let Quinn slap her so she'd leave us all well enough alone?

I suppose not. If it weren't for Rachel, all of her questions and Quinn's own infatuation with the woman I may never have realised my own feelings for Brittany. I can't help but feel a certain gratitude to her even if she'll never know how she contributed to my happiness.

"Santana?" Quinn looks at me like she had forgotten I existed. As she scans the camp surrounding us, I see her cheeks burn a deep red and I wonder what they could have talked about in such raised voices.

"Quinn, please." Rachel tries again, stepping forward to grasp Quinn's hand.

Quinn pulls away as if she's been burned(I think maybe she has been) and turns her face away from Rachel. "Just… Leave me be. Please…" She trails off in a pitiable tone.

I step forward to take her arm but she pushes me away just as abruptly as she did Rachel. "Let's go Santana."

She walks away so quickly that I have to almost run to keep up. I cast one more look over my shoulder to see Rachel's dejected face one more time before she goes back into the darkness of her husband's quarters.

I shuffle after her, my skirts tangling in the grass. "What was all that about?"

"Nothing, just… leave it be."

"But did you go looking for her? You said you wouldn't—"

"Just forget it Santana," she cuts me off, her tone sharp and vicious as a shard of glass.

I let my jaw snap shut and fall into step with her. I guess she really doesn't want to talk about it. Maybe when there aren't quite so many witnesses I'll pin her down and quietly torture the truth out of her. For now I remain silent.

As we walk through the last circle of tents and back onto the road toward town, I glance back in the direction I know the mess tent must be. I don't know if Brittany is still there but I feel the urge to wave goodbye anyway.

— s — — b —

San Francisco, California 1877

Brittany is reminded of that time so many years ago when she overheard her father talking with another man in angry voices. She was scared by what she heard then and vowed never to listen to an adult's conversation again but it's too late to back away now. She didn't mean to overhear this conversation between Holly and her friend. It just happened and now if she leaves, they'll know that she was there. She's in a lose lose situation so she just keeps still and tries to block out their words(even if that's not possible).

"So I told him that if he wanted to keep me, he'd have to do better than that," April laughs uproariously at the end of her story and Holly chuckles along with her. Both are into their second bourbon cocktail.

A gasp from April marks the start of a new topic and Brittany prays that it isn't anything too personal.

April is asking Holly about Brittany instead. "And what about your girl? She still got her eye on that dancing boy?"

Brittany suddenly changes her mind about listening in.

Holly sighs, "I don't know if she's still sweet on him or if she ever really was. She's just so curious about everything." She hesitates a moment and Brittany wishes she could see her face as well as hear the words. "I gave her the lesson on—all of that," she says finally.

"_All_ of that?" April asks in a mock scandalised voice before laughing again.

Brittany can imagine the wry grimace on Holly's face as she continues. "I think she can protect herself better by being well informed. I don't think I'd survive her father if the girl was… sullied by that boy. God, could you imagine if she ended up pregnant?"

Brittany blushes, reminded of the day Holly told her about…everything. Holly explained in painful detail what John really wanted to do when he kissed her like he did. Brittany couldn't bring herself to ask if _she_ had maybe secretly—even secret from herself—wanted the same thing from Penny the day they had kissed. Either way she had been avoiding John _and_ Penny ever since.

April is laughing again, even as she voices a shudder. "That man does frighten me."

Holly just hums in agreement which confuses Brittany. Holly and April are both afraid of her father?

April clicks her tongue. "Lord knows what my husband gets up to in their business together. I know I don't want to know." Her voice becomes conspiratorial and Brittany can't help but strain to listen, despite herself. "Although between you, me and the centrepiece I know there's somethin goin on tonight so I shouldn't expect to see either a them in the next few days.

"Oh?" Holly says in a voice that is clearly not meant to be encouraging.

April continues anyway. "Sure, I mean you heard what happened to that Sandy Ryerson fellow last month?" Holly must nod. "Well apparently after he was _done in_—so to speak—his little business had no one to take over."

Holly's gasp is short and low but Brittany still hears it. "Are you saying that Niklaus is taking over the illegal—" she lowers her voice to a rough whisper. "The illegal opium trade?"

April must nod. Brittany is still mulling over the strangeness of hearing Holly call her father Niklaus. She usually just says Mr Pierce or your father within her hearing.

"My god." Holly murmurs. "If he takes over that wharf then he'll have to deal with the barbarians that ship those poor girls." Holly sounds horrified.

Her words stir something from Brittany's distant memory.

April's tone is forcibly light. "Oh hush. That was only rumours and you know it. Besides, even if the rumours are true, that don't mean that Niklaus is in that deep. And we know that he and my husband both have an invested interest in private companies outside all that."

"For all the good it will do any of us if they get themselves killed."

"Oh don't be such a pessimist Holl'. I've got my hotel and you've got your er…" she trails off.

"Exactly. I've got nothing but a suitcase and a little girl that's not mine."

"Hey now. You can't feel bad about the beautiful young woman you've raised Holly. You love her to pieces and I know she feels the same way about you."

Brittany does love Holly. But she shouldn't be hearing any of this. She's about to try shoving her fingers in her ears when the door opens and Shirley comes in with a fresh tray of drinks. Under the cover of April's squeals of delight Brittany slips from the room.

She collapses to the wall down the hall, away from the women and draws a relieved breath. That's the last time she falls asleep in the drawing room.

"What you doing?"

Brittany jumps nearly out of her skin at her bothers abrupt appearance. "Brent, what are you doing here?" she asks, clutching at her chest. Her heart is still pounding from everything she's just heard.

Her big brother looks at her like she is a most pitiable thing, making Brittany scowl. She hates it when he looks at her like that.

"You've forgotten haven't you," Brent says rather than asks.

Brittany huffs and folds her arms across her chest. "Obviously or I wouldn't be asking."

"Oh, now who has all the attitude?" Brent returns with a mocking smile. "Father wants the photographs ready by the end of the week. Something about the daguerreotypes taking time to develop. I don't know but we're going there today."

Brittany chews her lip and looks down at the fine clothes that she's wearing. Holly had her dressed for the photo. She doesn't know how she could have forgotten. The same way she forgets anything else not related to dancing she supposes.

"I hope the carriage isn't late," Brent says in the pompous voice that Brittany hates. He never used to be so condescending. She remembers forlornly when they used to be friends. Before he went off to that school.

"Does it really matter?" Brittany sighs, not wanting to get these photographs done at all.

"Of course. I'm meeting with Father afterwards. I'm going to be working with him from now on."

"What, why do you get to?" Brittany whines. Her father won't let her know anything about his work, let alone have her along with him.

Brent looks at her with an incredulous expression, "And what use would you be to him? He needs someone strong and brave."

He sounds so much like a child when he says those things but there's no chance for Brittany to say so.

"I know you're no too bright but you must have figured out what he does. How we get such fine things." Brent sneers at the puffed up blossom of material on Brittany's shoulders; the ones she hates. "All these fine fabrics…" He leans in close to whisper into her ear. "They're soaked in blood."

Brittany gasps. It would be so easy to play the dolt that he thinks she is; so easy to pretend misunderstanding. Of course she realises her father is less than a respectable man but what can she do? She won't misunderstand his words now though. No humorous non-sequitur even comes to mind to cover her explicit understanding. She takes the even simpler path. She ignore her brother's comments and the things he alludes to in looks as much as words.

Brittany focuses on the first comments instead and the hurt she feels that her father thinks less of her than her brother. "I am strong, you know. Dancing has—"

"Oh please, you think jumping up and down with little twirls makes you strong?" There's so much derision in his voice it makes Brittany's heart ache.

At the same time she feels like she could just punch him in the face and be done with it but there's a voice in the back of her head; Holly's words in her mother's voice instructing her on the proper etiquette for a woman in a man's company. Even a brother. Even a father. She holds her tongue and keeps her hands by her side.

Brittany knows she's strong. She can feel the muscles that have grown under her clothes but there's little she can do to show her strength to her brother while she's wearing the confining dress. She hates having to wear it but her father insists on it. She feels so much more comfortable in the freeing clothes she wears for gymnastics. Even the layers of tule for dancing are better than the pointlessly complicated layers that confine her body and restrict her movements now. She doesn't even know where to begin in her criticism of the shuffling bundle of fabric that sits on her rear-end.

She looks at her brother who leans so casually against the wall and feels a pang of annoyance that he should be allowed so much more comfort in his clothes. The worst he has to worry about is the complicated tie at his throat. Brittany tugs at the shirt sleeves that cuff at her wrists with delicate buttons and longs for a day where that tie could be her only concern.

Brent smirks at her like he's won some kind of victory before pushing off from the wall. "Come on now. Let's get out of here. I hope you've burned off some energy with this undoubtedly stimulating discussion. You're going to have to sit very still if the photograph is gong to retain a family resemblance between us at all."

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

I groan again at the injustice of it all. Two days is a short time really but two days without Brittany feels like an eternity. That means I must be old and grey by now and too old for all this labor I've been forced into. Shelby seems to have made it her personal endeavour to leave me exhausted by the conclusion of each day. I clean more than anyone else, I help in the kitchen preparing every meal and snack left available for the rest of the girls to take at their leisure. Now I'm back to polishing silver again. I'm sure the cutlery could have been left much longer but that of course would have left me a moment to myself.

I could bitch and moan at Shelby continuously until she relieved me but that would require actually speaking to her and I just don't know how to do that anymore. She knows so much; too much. That's why I'm polishing silver while watching everyone rehearse for the Wednesday night concert. I haven't been offered to a Trick since Coleman and I know it's Shelby's doing. I just don't know what her motivation is yet. I'm almost entirely certain that she's protecting me but I would never have believed her capable of quite this level of compassion. Maybe she's going soft in her old age.

Quinn has told me more of Brittany's discussion with Shelby since that morning; that Brittany tried to demand my time exclusively and that Shelby refused. I know that Quinn has left something out of her retelling but I don't know whether she is protecting Shelby, Brittany or herself so I haven't pushed her to reveal what it is. Quinn did explain how Brittany feels she isn't good enough for me(I could only shake my head at the absurdity of that notion). I know Shelby doesn't think Brittany is good enough for me either but she's at least admitted a hope that Brittany will be one day. _My_ only hope is that I can be good enough, brave enough for her.

My Brittany is the most beautiful, wonderful woman I have ever met. She asked me to keep my heart for her and I promised it easily with her arms and lips and body so close to mine. Now, with nothing but two long days and nights between us I feel a hesitation. Not for my promise but in my understanding of what it means.

I'm still the coward. I'm still the one that is looking over my shoulder waiting for the world to punish us for what we've found together. I promised my heart to her and I do so willingly but I find my body, heart and mind at odds. The physical wanting clashes with the emotions I know are still changing and growing. We've known each other for such a short time and yet I feel so much for her already. Just thinking of her fills me with warmth. Her physical presence, her lips against mine are nothing short of overwhelming.

The forces that pulled Brittany and I together have never been innocent. Before either of us knew what it could mean, we craved each other's touch. Those first hours we shared after my eyes were finally opened to the want I harboured for Brittany were so visceral in experience. I only really thought about how I wanted her body. For all that I treasured the friendship growing between us, I knew I _wanted_ her more.

I still don't necessarily understand what that means, my wanting her. I don't know what will happen, making love to another woman—I know that is what Brittany and I would have. All I know for certain is that it's something entirely different from what I've experienced and something that I definitely want. That feeling of want hasn't diminished with the growing affection but it has changed and grown into something else I just can't understand.

What I know for certain is that we need something beyond what I can offer her physically. For all that Quinn recommended our physical union sooner rather than later, I can't chance ruining the deeper connection that is growing between us.

I find myself dwelling constantly over my feelings and hate it. I've never been one to dwell on the internal workings of my mind and conscience. Honestly it scares me. And that's the trouble. I'm so scared of my own feelings, how can I possibly share them properly with Brittany.

I'm drawn from my thoughts by Shelby taking the seat across from me and picking up a spare polishing cloth. I raise an eyebrow at her questioningly but she ignores my unasked question in favour of watching Mercedes perfecting her pitch with Avery. I keep polishing until Shelby clears her throat.

She continues to rub the cloth over the spoon in her hands. "Have you chosen a song yet?"

I scowl because no, I haven't. I don't know how I can chose anything that's right for Brittany. That's good enough for her.

"I didn't think so," Shelby says with a smirk that I would love to slap off her.

I sigh my annoyance before answering, "I haven't been able to find anything that's right. Nothing's good enough—" I cut myself off but Shelby gestures for me to continue. "I wanted something just right. He's a dancer?" I admit finally, my voice lifting in a question. I'm not asking for approval(except maybe I am).

Shelby looks at me, thoughtful. "And you want to sing _for_ him?"

I sigh again through a nod.

She thinks for a moment before putting down the polishing rag. "Stay here," she says, walking away to her office without anymore explanation.

I don't know what she could offer me, I'm sure that I've gone through every pice of music we have available.

I watch as Quinn takes over the stage. Mercedes offers criticism and occasional harmonies while Sugar watches. I can only laugh as Quinn glares down at Sugar who offers her special brand of support to their performance.

Shelby drops back down to her seat across from me and places a sheet of paper delicately on top of the cutlery I'm meant to be polishing. I push my blackened cloth to one side and take up the paper gingerly like it might try to bite me. When it comes to Brittany, I can only guess at what Shelby might be planning.

The page contains simple, lovely words. I gape at the page and then Shelby. It's perfect and all I can see is Brittany but…

"It's not a song," I say looking over the lines. "It's a poem." I flip the page over. "There's no music. No melody."

Shelby just smiles. "I guess you better go talk to Brad then." She nods over at the piano man that sits quietly at the keys, waiting as if tickling that ivory is the only purpose of his existence.

I smirk at the internal innuendo, feeling suddenly lighter for knowing what words I'll be voicing tonight even if the rest is still a mystery.

— s — — b —

Brittany takes up the lead again as Matt's steps falter. She knows that he has the advantage of full health but she feels like there's something to prove here. Her lungs burn and her ribs ache dreadfully until she can't take any more. She stumbles to a halt, clutching at her side as she tries not to vomit. She knows that this isn't what the doctor had in mind when he finally conceded Brittany be allowed to resume light training.

Matt has of course sprinted ahead but he turns back as soon as he realises she's no longer with him. He gives her a smile instead of a taunt and Brittany is glad that Private Rutherford has turned out to be far more decent then their previous dealings might have suggested. When Brittany had first approached Anderson to find Matt there she was horrified. She was sure he would make her life more difficult. All the more when Anderson explained that Matt would be teaching her how to fight as well as helping with the strength training.

Lieutenant Anderson approaches them with a stop watch and a smile. "That was good Pierce. You've only lost a little speed in your respite."

"And stamina," Brittany grumbles, still fighting to keep her breakfast down.

Matt chuckles, "Gives the rest of us a chance to keep up."

Brittany spares him a weak smile, slowly straightening up. She sees that Anderson has a book and pencil under his arm. Apparently this must be the written part of their training. It's still not clear what will be involved but Anderson promises that Private Pierce won't even recognise himself by the end of the month. Brittany scoffs at that of course and doesn't even mind that Anderson doesn't understand why.

The lieutenant follows her gaze to his notebook. "I'm recording your progress and the training techniques we're using."

Brittany questions why with a look.

"Major Hudson doesn't like that one Private is receiving so much attention," he admits slowly. "I er, had to negotiate the extra time by saying that I would get our work published and he'd get credit."

Brittany frowns at this new piece of information but before she can say anything a rough, bullish voice bellows out. They turn together to see Karofsky and a few others stalking past on the way to their own training field. If Karofsky sees the Lietenant he chooses to ignore the presence of a superior officer as he shouts out his usual slurs.

"Brentessa Pierce just gets all the attention doesn't she?" he asks the red haired soldier man beside him.

The man—Nelson, she thinks—chortles as if he's made an excellent joke.

"A real shame to waste all that energy on a useless, weak little snipe like him," Karofsky laughs again.

The slurs are weak at best but they still make Brittany's anger rise. Before she can do anything rash she feels a hand on her shoulder. She turns expecting to find Anderson but it's Matt instead.

"You know the tumbling you told me about?" he asks quietly.

Brittany nods. She'd told him about her gymnastics training when he asked what skills she already had. He'd seemed impressed. Brittany hadn't really thought to tell anyone before but his reaction made her wish she'd shared sooner. Now, with Karofsky laughing openly at her and the anger radiating from somewhere near her still aching ribs she knows what she should do.

Matt squeezes her shoulder again. "Whatever you're strong enough to do Pierce."

Brittany nods again, approaching Karofsky as soon as Matt releases her shoulder. She stops within ten paces of him and the group of men at his back.

"A snipe that can run circles around your lard ridden ass Karofsky," she says daringly. "You really think you can touch me on your own?" She glares into his eyes, knowing that he's far too much the coward to ever come after her one on one, even in the dark of night.

Karofsky laughs again, looking around at the men beside him for the support he so obviously desires.

"I'd wish you luck with that but you and I know that wouldn't make any difference." Brittany wears a cocky smile that almost feels real.

"Oh yeah, prove it," Karofsky jeers again but his confidence falters at the look on Brittany's face.

She smirks openly at him as he's said exactly the words she wanted to hear.

She turns her back to him and with a deep breath tumbles forward onto one hand then the other, her feet wheeling over her body and her hips rotating in one rapid movement. Both feet land together and she can spot Karofsky in the instant before she is using the momentum to spring off her toes into a back handspring. Her body remembers the motions better than she could have hoped and in a surge of confidence she springs off her toes again, landing more solidly to push off into a full backflip. She lands easily enough, her balance only slightly shaken by the pain in her ribs.

She knows it's impressive to see. She still remembers the first time she saw a tumbler at a circus she visited with her Mother and brother as a little girl. It was incredible then and it's exhilarating now. If only that stabbing pain wasn't bringing tears to her eyes. She thought dancing the way she did for Santana was difficult. That was nothing to the way her whole chest, side and back throbs with her every shallow breath now. This may have been a bad idea.

But then everyone is clapping, or at least Matt, Anderson and a few others are clapping. Karofsky's mouth is hanging open and Nelson looks like someone smacked him in the face with a fish—that is equally confused and disgusted. Karofsky finally figures out how to close his mouth and he storms away with the rest of the soldiers following him to wherever they're meant to be.

Matt and Anderson are both smiling broadly.

"I didn't know _that_ was gonna happen," Matt said with a pleased grin. "I imagined tumbling to involve more time on the ground. I don't think Karofsky is gonna look at you the same way again."

Brittany wants to smile at that but she can't keep the grimace from her features and Anderson finally notices the way Brittany clutches at her side.

"Ow," she finally lets out a grumble, hoping desperately that the tears will stay behind her eyes and not fall.

Anderson eyes the hand on her ribs warily and gives a dramatic wince. "Oh, was that too much too soon?"

"Sorry Brent," Matt apologises. "I didn't realise."

Brittany shakes her head, "No, it's fine. I should have known my limits." Holly had gone to great lengths to teach her about knowing her limits. She'd apparently forgotten.

"We'll know better next time," Matt says in his quiet way. "We'll make sure your healthy as you can be."

Anderson aggress. "That's the point of this after all. When you get sent out, I want you at your best strength."

"Out?"

"Yeah, out there on assignment." The lieutenant gestures toward the wilderness beyond the camp and away from town. "We're here for more than training, Pierce. There is a lot of country that we need to scout. It's not exactly war but it's dangerous enough. We need you soldiers at your best strength."

He says it with a grin but Brittany's stomach drops. They'll be leaving Clothier soon. She knew it would happen eventually, she just isn't ready yet.

"Will we ever just leave without warning?" Brittany asks, trying not to imagine the hurt that would certainly come to Santana's eyes when Brittany has to say that she's leaving.

Anderson gives her a funny look before he finally understands and gives her a wry smile. "We'll always give you a chance to say goodbye to your sweetheart, Brent." He pats her hard on the shoulder. "Don't you worry about it."

Brittany doesn't want to worry but at the same time… she doesn't like the sound of goodbyes at all.

— s — — b —

The saloon is busy with the usual Wednesday night crowd swollen by the ranks of additional soldiers. I won't ever know how my visit with Quinn to the camp affected the numbers but I'm seeing a few new faces. I don't think I did too much damage to our reputation. Thank god Quinn was there.

Shelby has kept me from the floor for another night and again, I can only be grateful. I think I could do the work if I had to. I wouldn't break down the way I did with Coleman but the certainty is gone. The knowledge that I ruled the room with what I could only call a sexual confidence is gone. In it's place I've found this quiet shell of myself. I don't know what could fill the void I feel in me. Not yet.

Quinn looks at me now like she doesn't know exactly who I am anymore. Then again, I probably look at her the same way. She'd put on a brave face after cutting herself off from Rachel but that was only a mask. One that was torn away by whatever happened in the Major's tent that day. She, like me is waiting for some next big thing to happen.

Thankfully Shelby has taken pity on me. I never thought I'd be glad for pity but I'm glad now for the chance to come to grips with everything that's changing in me.

With the Concert about to start, Brittany is late again and I try not to worry every time I see a group of men arrive without her among them. I just keep an eye on the door while I quietly serve out drinks and even the occasional cocktail. I never would have thought there'd be much call for them but I'm keeping the bitters on hand tonight.

With my back to the bar and a tray of clean glasses in need of putting away, I finally hear the voice I've been waiting for.

"Hello Santana," the simple words that send a wave of heat through my body and straight to my heart.

I whirl around to see _that_ smile attached to my favourite person in the world. I squeal and push up onto the bar to kiss her over the timber. Then I remember my resolution; the conclusion to my building worry and concern for our friendship. I have to be careful. I have to keep my distance.

I let my heels settle back on the ground and I drift back away from her. She looks a little disappointed but the smile is back quickly enough.

"What would you like Sweets?" I ask, to cover up my moment of awkwardness.

She blushes heatedly and I know where her mind drifted to first. She clears her throat and her answer is back to drinks. "Whatever you're having."

"Whiskey it is," I say through a grin, watching Brittany roll her eyes. I'm worried my own, hard worn habit is rubbing off on her.

Mercedes begins her first song and I know our time is limited. I ask her about her day as I pour a drink for us both. She tells me about her training with the lieutenant and another Private named Rutherford. I can't keep the grin from my face as I watch her talk. She seems to light up from the inside when she tells me about running again. I laugh out loud at her story—complete with impressions and arm flailing—about her performing tumbles in front of the soldiers that are so awful to her. I can't quite picture what she means but she assures me that I'll see it one day. I believe that she's right.

Kurt has to draw my attention away from her when it's my time to leave for the stage. I glance up and down the bar, feeling bad for making Kurt do all the work but he waves off my apology, smiling somewhat shyly at Brittany who grins back at him like she knows his every secret. I remind myself to ask about it later.

For now I settle with pressing my hand against Brittany's shoulder and running my fingers lightly over her neck on my way past. It's more than I should have allowed myself but now that I've seen her again, I know most of my resolutions will go out the window. I can't not be touching Brittany. I've never been able to keep away from her.

— s — — b —

I smile at Brad as I take the stage and he nods back at me. We spent much longer than usual arranging the music and gentle melody for my performance. He still barely spoke, letting his instrument do most of the talking but I've decided I like his stoic presence all the same. He looks between Brittany and I before raising his eyebrows in a silent question. I feel my cheeks heat but I smile as I nod a yes. This is for _that_ soldier.

The noise in the room has built to a dull roar since the last girl finished her songs but I don't mind. Brittany is watching and that's all that matters.

Brad plays the first notes and a few men turn to watch and listen. A few more keep gambling, heedless of our music.

_O soft and dainty maiden,  
__from afar_ _I watch you,  
as amidst the flowers you move,_  
_And pluck them, singing._

It's little more than a beautiful arrangement of words but I rock along with them. I hold them in my heart for every beat before pouring them into the room in the loose shade of melody I've prepared for them.

_And their feet move_ _rhythmically,  
__as tender_ _feet of Cretan girls_  
_danced once around an_

_altar of love,  
crushing_ _a circle  
__in the soft_ _smooth flowering grass_

Her grin softens into a gracious smile at my words and I know she understands that they're for her. All for her.

_O soft and dainty maiden,  
from afar_ _I watch you,  
as amidst the flowers you move,_  
_And pluck them, singing._

The room has fallen oddly silent and I feel the nervous energy build but I won't allow anything to affect my voice. My gaze is locked with Brittany's. A look shouldn't have this kind of power but Brittany must have her own sorcery because her gaze is so close to a caressing touch she's heating the blood in my veins and sending a pulsing thrill directly to my groin. I let my chin drop so I'm staring at her through my lashes and I can see even at the distance, her breath catch. My eyes unlock from hers to look over her body. The uniform boxes her in but not enough to properly hide the slim waist and lithe limbs that I know are underneath. When my eyes finally return to hers, I'm surprised the room hasn't yet caught fire.

_More golden than all gold your tresses are:  
__Never was harp-note like your voice,  
my love,_ _Your voice sweet-ringing._

— s — — b —

Brittany adores the song and she feels impossible love for the girl that gave it to her. The way Santana stared at her throughout made her body hum. She's sure that Santana felt the same way. Even as the music stopped and the whole room burst into spontaneous applause, Santana only looked at her.

Within a few moments Santana is working her way back towards Brittany and she hopes that Santana will let her kiss her. She saw how Santana pulled back when she first arrived. If Santana is still scared of what other people might see or say then Brittany won't push her. She just really, really hopes that Santana will kiss her now.

At some point Brittany's arms become suddenly very full of Santana. She wants to lift her up and hold her closer but the training really has warn her out. She can live with this though; Santana bury's her face into her shoulder then turns to press a discreet kiss against Brittany's neck. The shiver that runs down Brittany's spine can't be helped.

"You were incredible," Brittany says, truly meaning it. "I've never heard anything like it."

"But did you like it? The—song?" Santana asks shyly, still refusing to let go of Brittany's waist.

"I loved it." Brittany holds Santana ever closer and runs a hand down the back of her hair. Santana's worn it loose tonight in a way that Brittany rarely gets to see but absolutely loves.

The music starts again and Brittany can see a few of Shelby's girls being guided to something of a dance floor by the stage. It's a simple arrangement with no complicated group dancing and Brittany is glad because it just means she can hold Santana for that much longer.

Brittany takes a deliberate step back and holds her hand out to Santana as she bends at the waist in a half bow. "Will you take a dance with me Santana?"

Brittany sees a glint of panic in Santana's eyes and she worries that maybe the moment was wrong after all, that this wasn't the time to ask. She starts to lower her hand but then Santana's eyes clear. Whatever worry had clouded them is gone and Santana's whole face lights up with the most beautiful smile.

Santana's smile turns bashful as she takes Brittany's hand in hers. "I would love to Sweets."

— s — — b —

They lose track of any other person in the room and all they can see or hear is each other even though they're surrounded by so much music and noise. They talk about nothing and everything. Every small tale from Santana's childhood about climbing trees and chasing butterflies makes Brittany fall that much deeper into the love that consumes her.

"And now it's you're turn to sing for me Britt," Santana says suddenly.

Brittany can't help but laugh. "I'd sound like a bullfrog next to you San." She knows she can sing okay but it was never her greatest strength.

"I can't think that's possible Sweets," Santana frowns as Brittany's self doubt. "I'll bet you have a lovely voice. And I demand a song." She pinches at Brittany's side.

Brittany laughs, "Okay, fine, fine. What should I sing?"

"Anything," Santana says. "So long as you're singing it, I'll love it."

Britt should sing a song just as lovely as Santana's but she knows she could never do it justice. There's something else she could sing but it's probably too ridiculous.

"I can sing anything?" she asks to be sure.

Santana just nods.

Brittany grins through her confident smile and quirks an eyebrow. Santana's breath catches as Brittany leans in to whisper in her ear. "You asked for it," she breathes into her ear, absolutely loving the shiver she gets out of the girl.

She hums hesitantly, tuning into the sound of the piano that has long since been absent an accompanying voice. She matches the pace as she begins one of the few songs she knows all the words to.

_Ha, ha, ha, you and me,_  
_Little brown jug, don't I love thee!_

Santana jerks back to stare up at her incredulously. Brittany just grins into a verse.

_If all the folks in Adam's race  
__Were gathered together in one place,_  
_I'd let them go without a tear_  
_Before I'd part from you, my dear._

_Ha, ha, ha, you and me,_  
_Little brown jug, don't I love thee!_

Santana slaps at Brittany's arm. "Britt, that's not exactly what I had in mind."

"You said anything!" Brittany exclaims. Ignoring the slap she leans in to nudge her nose at Santana's cheek, her lips coming in close to Santana's ear. "Didn't you like it?" she breathes out.

Santana can't seem to help the second shiver that runs through her, despite the absurdity of Brittany's song.

Brittany leans back so she can see Santana's face.

Santana just shakes her head. "You were flat," she says with a happy grin.

Brittany just laughs and Santana joins her. They laugh until both their stomachs and cheeks ache and continue to smile as they dance until Santana leads Brittany upstairs for a night of easy smiles and gentle touches.

They hold each other close as they fall asleep and Brittany knows that even if Santana chose never to kiss her again she would be content as long as she could hold her like this.

— s — — b —

Brittany counts every crunch in her head. Knowing that she'll finally get to see Santana again after a long week of hard work is a small comfort as she pushes through her fiftieth sit up with Sam kneeling on her feet and the medicine ball in her arms.

Brittany only gets to see Santana once a week—It's all she can afford—and as wonderful as every moment with her is, she is getting increasingly frustrated by both her absence _and _her presence. To say that she is irritable would be something of an understatement.

Santana has kept their kisses chaste and their touches innocent for weeks now. She seems hesitant in their physical affection, like she could break Brittany if she pressed too hard against her or let their tongue's intertwine as they had done so deliciously in the mess all those weeks ago. Brittany doesn't want to push and she wouldn't know how to even if she would consider it.

Knowing that her visits with her Santana are few and far between Brittany does her best to focus on training and not think about Santana on any day she can't see her. Santana still enter her thoughts, of course but Brittany focuses her energies on the training and on the burning muscles that continue to develop across her body. She pushes Santana from her thoughts through most of the day and into the night.

She can't control her dreams though. When Brittany finally falls to her cot with aching muscles and creeping exhaustion her thoughts go always to Santana. The thoughts she denies herself during the day follow her into sleep so her dreams are inevitably filled with midnight hair and caramel skin.

Sometimes she dreams of their clearing. Sometimes they're running together through the streets and alleys of Hunna district with their hands joined. Sometimes Brittany dreams of a room at Corcorans. In these dreams, Santana isn't hesitant, their kisses aren't chaste and Brittany inevitably wakes up with a coiling, humming heat in her abdomen and a thrumming pulse demanding attention below that.

She hasn't given in to the temptation to touch. She doesn't know if she could handle Santana's soft and gentle touches in their real time together if she gave in and did _that_ with thoughts of her. It would feel like too much and too little all at once. So when Brittany wakes with that heated need, she runs to her pool—no matter the ache in her muscles from training the day before—and plunges herself into the cool water. It's better that way. And if it's not better then it's at least safer.

Especially on Wednesday's. On the nights when she doesn't just dream of Santana, she actually gets to be with her. She gets to dance with Santana and feel her arms wrapped around her waist, with Santana's hair under her fingertips.

When they're finally alone in one of those rooms straight from Brittany's fantasies Santana takes so much care to remove Brittany's chest bindings without her touch drifting. Brittany could swear that her light touches are even more stimulating for the absence of something else. Especially when Santana's fingers are running through her hair and her breath is warm on her neck. It almost hurts, the way she aches for her.

They hold each other through the night every time and every time Brittany lays awake for most of it, both so she can watch Santana dream _and_ so she can keep her mind from drifting too far into her desires.

"Hey wake up," Sam says, clicking his fingers near Brittany's nose and bringing her back to her present. "Another fifty to go."

Brittany groans and collapses onto her back. Her body is already aching all over and the way her thoughts drifted back to Santana is not helping anything.

Sam shakes his head with a laugh. "Come on Brent, you're usually buzzing for Wednesday nights."

"Yeah, I know. It's just getting… difficult." Brittany admits.

Sam looks like he would rather talk about something else but with Brittany refusing to move he has little choice. "You could always actually tell her how you feel."

Brittany sighs. They've had this argument before. She's wanted to tell Santana how much she loves her so many times. Sometimes she wonders that Santana can't feel it. Every touch, every word feels like it overflows straight from Brittany's heart. She just can't say it aloud yet. She's scared, of course but she would be brave for Santana. She just doesn't know how Santana will react. Does she feel the same way? Brittany thinks that she does, she just can't be sure.

The worst fear that grips her though is that Santana thinks Brittany might just be saying the words to have her physically. If she were to lose Santana because she rushed what they have she could never forgive herself.

Before she can try to explain herself(once again) to Sam she feels her feet released of the pressure of Sam's knees. Looking up she sees Lieutenant Anderson and Matt approaching with hurried steps. Brittany stands up quickly, glad for a chance to stop doing sit-ups. The addition of the medicine ball is leaving her stomach muscles aching severely.

"There you are," Anderson says in that sing-song voice he's adopted when it's just the four of them(Brittany is glad he's so comfortable around them now). "You've got the afternoon off."

Sam does a little fist pump like he's won a victory. Brittany just looks confused. "Why," she asks. "Can I keep training?"

Anderson shakes his head, "Negative. You're to get your things in order before dawn tomorrow for immediate departure."

He uses an official sounding tone that just confuses Brittany even more. "Departure where?"

"Orders have come through. Your platoon is leaving on this scouting assignment after all." He's smiling like it's the most exciting thing.

Sam is grinning too and Brittany supposes that it is an exciting prospect. They've been held in the one spot for so long everyone has been getting restless. Only half the men are being sent on this trip though and Brittany was glad to not be one of them.

"But Santana," is all that Brittany can say.

Anderson's grin diminishes a little at Brittany's expression.

"Well, maybe Evans can pack up your things for you?" the Lieutenant turns to Sam who nods straight away.

"Of course Brent. I've got it."

Brittany chews on her lip thoughtfully.

"There you have it Brent," Anderson says, clapping his hands together. "You better go get some time with your girl."

"Oh I'll bet he'll get some of something," Sam says in a rare suggestive tone.

He then laughs so uproariously at the heat that bursts across Brittany's cheeks that he has to duck quickly to avoid the medicine ball that she throws at his head.

— s — — b —

Knowing that working outside is at least giving me the benefit of fresh air takes little of the sting out of Shelby sticking me with yet more manual labor. Last week it was hauling water. This week it's cleaning the outside widows. I did the second story first, nearly plummeting to my death from the top of the ladder at least twice.

Now that my hands have finally stopped their shaking it's onto the expansive windows that separate the saloon from the street. I have a smaller ladder for this job but a much larger bucket. I never gave much thought to just how huge these windows are.

The worst part is that these jobs give me far too much time to think. It's not so bad when Shelby is trying to teach me how to do the books. All the numbers and complicated mathematics are enough to consume all of my attention. When it comes to jobs like cleaning that require minimal attention, my thoughts drift inevitably to Brittany.

No matter how I try to divert them, it's like she's sunk into me. The physical distance I've put between us gets harder to maintain every moment I spend with her. In every wonderful second in her company I can feel my resolve starting to crumble. She looks at me with those eyes and _that_ smile and my knees go weak. She's always there to catch me and I let her, inevitably holding her tighter against me.

It's been weeks and the want is only growing. I know it's worth it even while I doubt that it's working at all. This ridiculous scheme to bring us together by keeping us apart. I want her so much still yet I have so many more feelings to feel.

I was weak in our first few days together after the mutual confessions. I let my hands, my lips, my tongue cover too much flesh too quickly. I wanted her and it was difficult to pull away. We both spoke of ardent want but nothing of true affection. It didn't seem that important in the moment but now…

I keep our kisses chaste, drawing back before they can become too heated. There is always a flash of disappointment in Brittany's eyes but she never questions my reluctance. If I wasn't such a coward, I could tell her openly why I resist her more now than in the first days of our friendship. I would tell her that I know I am falling in love with her.

That's why I hold back and insist on a physical distance between us even as our emotional attachment grows stronger. Every time that I get to see her—as few and far between as those times might be—I feel like my heart only grows bigger to hold every ounce of sweetness that I feel when I'm with her. Every secret that she tells me and every look that we share makes me feel like another piece of myself has come to fill the void that my denial had left in me.

"Stupid Santana. Stop thinking about her," I grumble under my breath, scrubbing at the window with renewed vigour.

"Psst San," a voice calls to me from some unknown source.

I wonder if maybe I've been outside for too long. Or this endless list of 'odd jobs' is actually sending me slowly into insanity. Then I hear it again.

"San, down here." Brittany's voice drifts in from the alleyway beside Corcorans.

I can't help the yelp of surprise as Brittany's face suddenly appears over the edge of the rail surrounding the verandah.

"Sweets, what are you doing here?"

She jumps up onto the edge so her hips bump against the railing and she's leaning in towards me. I move to her without thought and hold her cheeks in my damp, soapy hands. She doesn't seem to mind the water as she grins roguishly at me. I always underestimate how beautiful she really is. She takes my breath away every time. My lips find hers as if on instinct and she almost falls back before regaining purchase and kissing me back with just as much fervour.

Her hands find my waist and begin their drift to my lower back before I can pull myself away. The now familiar flash of disappointment pulls down the edge of her grin.

"Sorry," I apologise, glancing at my feet. I hate hurting her.

She waves away my apology as she always does and her smile returns in full force. "What are you doing this afternoon?" she asks with bright eyes.

I gesture to the bucket and abandoned scrubbing brush. "Windows."

"Nope. Your spending time with me." She says it with a laugh that reveals just how excited she is to be with me.

I laugh right along with Brittany, giddy at the thought of more time with her. The fact that we even lost our Sunday's to her training has been difficult to bear. Seeing her here, now with the sun still high is enough to make me think I could be just dreaming of Brittany again instead of actually holding her in the flesh.

The taste of her on my lips is the best reminder that this is real. I glance through the windows to see Quinn tidying bottles inside. I wave to get her attention. When she glances up I see her eyebrow raise as she glances at the door, only a few yards away from me. I roll my eyes and grab at Brittany's collar, pulling her forcefully over the railing until she can stand in front of the window.

Brittany grins and waves happily to Quinn who for her part couldn't look more shocked. I push Brittany back, out of view of the window and she giggles at my sneaky behaviour.

I make a few hand gestures between myself, Brittany and the street so Quinn can understand that I'm leaving. Quinn rolls her eyes spectacularly and shakes her head. Then she waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. The smile I give her is an honest one as I wave goodbye, dry off my hands and drag Brittany away and onto the street.

— s — — b —

The light is a little different in the early afternoon. The last time Brittany walked down this street arm in arm with Santana the sky was clear and the sun streamed in from the east. Now the sun leans in from the west and casts deeper shadows than the morning sun ever seems capable of. It's still as beautiful. Especially with the way the hazy light seems to reflect in Santana's hair.

"Beautiful," Brittany murmurs.

Santana must hear her because she blushes brightly but doesn't try to argue against the compliment. Brittany's glad.

She's not sure either of them have chosen a destination but Brittany finds her feet taking her toward the Hunna district. Maybe they could have a drink with Santana's friend Mike again. It feels natural for their feet to take them there either way.

They walk past the few landmarks that Santana had pointed out on their first and last full day together. Brittany eyes the Crystal Palace wearily, knowing more of what's inside. The owner stands in the same spot and with the same girl as last time and Brittany feels a pang of pity for her. She really is very pretty and with the blonde hair and fair complexion could easily be her own sister if she'd had one.

She sees a flash of a navy blue jacket a few paces away from the bottom step. She recognises the shock of red hair that flicks out over the collar from under the crooked cap. Rick Nelson. His sneers and hurtful comments follow her throughout their camp and he's in the platoon that she's leaving with tomorrow. She just has to hope that he'll be better away from Karofsky's influence.

Brittany is glad she didn't wear her jacket today as he walks up the stairs to The Crystal Palace, exchanges a few words with the man out front then disappears inside. She has no desire for Santana to be witness to whatever humiliating treatment he might have deemed necessary.

Thankfully Santana misses Brittany's worry altogether, looking up at the taller girl with a smile. "Have you eaten Sweets?"

Brittany nods, "Sure have. What about you?"

Santana nods the same, before cocking her head to the side in an adorable, questioning tilt. "So where are we going?"

They pause in the same doorway as last time and Brittany can smell horse hair and fresh leather. She mulls over the possibilities for their afternoon. Their clearing would be filled with light even now and she does long to go back there. It doesn't seem like enough though. She wants something special she just can't place what.

Santana looks up at her expectantly and Brittany has an idea. She nods toward the clouds of steam and strings of laundry that mark the edge of Hunna. "Will you follow me?"

Santana seems to contemplate for a moment and Brittany nearly stops breathing before she finally nods with a grin. "Anywhere."

— s — — b —

I follow in her wake, not in the least bit concerned with where we might be going. I let the sounds, smells and sights of Hunna swirl around me without acknowledging or absorbing any of it. All I can see and hear is Brittany. All I can feel is Brittany's hand gently holding mine and the heat of her smile whenever she turns it toward me.

We pass into the bleary shadow of billowing steam and are immediately surrounded by dozens of people. Brittany's pace only picks up as she shuffles quickly between people, under signs, around chairs and over boxes. Men yell out as we pass, with words neither of us can understand but it only makes us laugh.

I squeal in delight as Brittany occasionally weaves left or right to catch me unawares. She bumps back into me so our bodies collide in a brush so soft she could only have planned it as the hand not holding my own winds across my waist or my hip. The way she spins and weaves could only be described as a dance, I feel inelegant in her wake until she smiles at me. Then I feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

We're almost running and I wonder how Brittany can even tell where we are, let alone where we're going. My fears are all but confirmed when she skids to a halt, causing me to run into the back of her. Strong arms catch me before I can fall and I lean into her happily as she scans the shop fronts around us. I don't know where we are and I don't bother to look, trusting that Brittany will guide us to our destination eventually.

Her eyes light up and she drags me to the opposite side of the street, only cutting off a _few_ angry looking chinamen this time. She throw her apologies in english over her shoulder even as they yell at us in Chinese. I can only smile.

She stops eventually in front of a random shop selling some kind of hardware. "What do you think?" she asks brightly.

I envy her stamina as I have to work to catch my breath. I glance at the sign for the shop again. "Of hardware?" I ask.

She laughs, turning me to my left so that I'm looking at the right place. I feel my smile drop and the colour drain from my face.

The tattoo man.

"You're getting a tattoo?"

Brittany shakes her head. "We're getting a tattoo, each." She grins like it's the greatest idea ever.

I shake my head, "No, absolutely not. Have you seen what they do? It's not just a paintbrush Sweets." My voice is rising into a whine because I can see the pout beginning to form on her lips.

Brittany discovered how easy it is to manipulate me with that pout a few weeks ago. She doesn't use it very often, but when she does, I have no defence.

The pout is in full effect before my own frown starts to waver.

"Please, San," she practically begs. "I promise, I'll hold your hand the whole time and you'll barely feel a thing."

I groan in defeat and Brittany gives a happy little jump, leaning in quickly to kiss me on the cheek. I glance around us but no one is paying any attention. She and I are both apparently feeling reckless with our impromptu excursion.

"Fine, but something small, okay."

Brittany nods, "Of course. It'll just be ours."

Her smile is blinding and I can't help but return it with my own.

She pulls me forward until we're standing in front of the board with all the illustrations that had so captured Brittany's attention all those weeks ago. I should have guessed then that we would end up back here. My eyes scan over the drawings. Some are small while others flow across the expanse of the board in an intricate weave. One draws my attention almost immediately. In the bottom right corner I spot a delicate illustration of a sun. It's rays spiral delicately out from a golden centre making it a little bit smaller than the palm of my hand. It is so perfectly Brittany. I squeeze her hand where it has remained in mine since entering the district.

"This one for you," I say pointing to the little sun.

Brittany grins. "Then you should have this one San." she moves to stand behind me and points to another drawing that must already have caught her eye.

It's a delicate crescent moon. A perfect match to the sun illustration.

"It's perfect," the words tumble out before I can stop them.

"Two celestial beings, too bright to belong to anyone else." Brittany's whispered words send a shiver running through my body.

I twist to look at her. She's always honest and the meaning behind her words can be beautiful but she's rarely so eloquent.

She just smiles down at me. "I'll tell you later," she says dropping a simple kiss on my cheek and then another one when my cheek must form the dimple she's so enamoured by.

My nose scrunches up as she presses another kiss to my temple, making me laugh.

The gruff sound of a man clearing his throat make us both startle. A man has appeared while we deliberated over the drawings. He hasn't said anything but looks at us expectantly. I look over his strange clothes and come to the conclusion that he doesn't speak any english. I try to ask him how much for the sun and he holds up fingers to indicate cost, confirming my suspicion.

I turn back to Brittany. "Okay sweets but they have to be somewhere hidden." I look at her in the way she can't miss my meaning.

Britt frowns anyway and I smooths the crinkle away as I add, "So only you will see mine and only I'll get to see yours."

Brittany looks confused for a moment longer but then realisation dawns and she grins wolfishly.

I glance down to where I know her ribs are hidden. I press my hand against them, just under her breast and look up at her from under my eyelashes.

Brittany presses her hand against mine and whispers into my ear. "But he'll know about me."

I glance at the man who seems to only follow the conversation enough to nod thoughtful at our drawing choices. "He doesn't speak any English. Whose he gonna tell?"

Brittany looks at the man speculatively one more time before addressing him properly. "Is here okay?" she asks deliberately removing my hand from her ribs to point there with her other hand.

The man shrugs in the Hunna way that essentially means 'If that's what you want.'

Brittany grins, all hesitation gone as she nods eagerly and points to the spot again. She releases my hand to point to the sun drawing at the same time as her ribs. "I want this here," she says succinctly.

The Chinaman nods and immediately guides her into a seat inside. A bright lamp lights up the space and the man brings another, adjusting the light until there are almost no shadows left in the space.

Brittany takes the seat in a jovial fashion that suggests she's about to be brought a cup of tea rather than a tray of fine needles and inks to be forced under her skin. I know I must look alarmed when the man brings his instruments including a cut throat razor to a low table beside the chair.

He says something incomprehensible in his short, clipped tones.

Brittany takes the sounds as an instruction, tugging her shirts from her slacks and removing her overshirt altogether. I turn away for a moment before Brittany scoffs a laugh, bringing my attention back to her as she raises both eyebrows in a subtle challenge. I keep my eyes on her face, only seeing in my peripheral as she lifts her undershirt to reveal her abdomen and healing ribs.

Brittany blinks once before I lose my resolve and glance down.

I gulp at her newly revealed stomach. The bruises are long gone and the clean flesh is as milky white and smooth as I imagined. Under the taught skin, her muscles that had been firm before are developing into a chiselled sculpture of perfection. Her hips still swell out delicately from her waist, revealing her feminine curves while defined muscles stretch in divots and flat plains above her navel. My jaw literally drops as I suddenly need to take in more air than my normal breathing would allow.

Brittany laughs at my awed expression making the muscles twitch and quiver.

"You like what you see?" she asks daringly. The confident smile is back in place as she generally ignores the chinaman setting up a burner, water and towels.

I can't help but nod dumbly. I try to force my gaze back to her face but somehow I get lost along the way. My eyes trail over her forearms where muscles tense under skin that has been made slightly darker by the sun. My eyes follow the natural path up to her elbow and over the swell of her bicep; her upper arms and her shoulders now fill out the sleeves of her undershirt _very_ well. She's still slim certainly, and feminine without a doubt but the delicacy of her form has been replaced by a lean, graceful sinew.

I find her eyes eventually and they're dark with something I can't quite place. I can only assume that the look matches the heat that I feel in my own abdomen and that is surely written across my cheeks. My obvious leering has effected us both.

— s — — b —

Brittany doesn't mind the pain of the needles so much. She's experienced worse pain certainly. And the look on Santana's face of horrified fascination is worth every second. The fiery sting of the needles grows as the skin around the pricks becomes inflamed but Brittany is careful to keep her expression happy. If Santana sees the pain then she might not go through with it. Brittany doesn't want Santana in pain but she thinks this will be good for them both. When she leaves tomorrow, Santana will have this. _She_ will have this and every time she sees the sun or the moon, she'll think of Santana. She'll think of Santana anyway but this is just… more.

It takes some time for the colour to return to Santana's face but once it does Brittany reaches for her hand. She was stuck against the wall for most of it but as the sun shape is finally becoming clear Brittany draws her in to see it.

"You'll have to tell me what it looks like San. I'm at a funny angle here."

Santana allows herself to be drawn in and she looks at the tattoo with an appropriate amount of fascinated awe. "It's beautiful Britt."

The way Santana looks at her then makes Brittany's breath catch. "Your turn next San."

Santana takes a deep breath. She looks scared but nods anyway. The Chinaman must hear something in her breath because he halts his shifting hands to look up at her, saying something in his strange tongue. Santana looks at him confused and he rolls his eyes, nodding at a bottle in the corner. It looks so much like the wine Mike gave us last time we were in this district, it must be the same.

Santana grins. "Well if the man insists."

She picks up the bottle and the small glass that's set beside it. She downs one and then another shot. A whoosh of air escapes her lips after the second shot and she has to close her eyes and shake her head. She replaces the bottle and turns back to Brittany whose tattoo must be finished.

Santana bends in a little closer to examine the work and she grins, touching her fingertip to the skin below the fresh markings.

Brittany grins at her expression. "You're turn."

— s — — b —

I still don't know how I agreed to this. It seemed important to Brittany so it's important to me. Why do I let her sway me so much. Oh that's right, I don't get a choice in the matter. Brittany just turns that overly confident, overly charming smile in my direction and I melt like ice in front of the fire.

Brittany is watching in rapt attention to every movement of the man's hands over my skin. That may also have something to do with the necessary removal of more of my clothing than hers. I can't be sure. The Chinaman looked at me like I was a piece of furniture that needed repairing but Brittany's eyes had seemed to devour me whole. The heat between us, palpable even if we're the only ones to feel it.

The wine certainly helped. It got me into the chair at least. It kept me from flinching when the razor was used to scrape any fine hairs from my skin. Brittany just kept assuring me that everything was going to be fine. I didn't miss the way that she wouldn't promise me it doesn't hurt. I know it's going to hurt. With Brittany's eyes boring into mine though I know it's happening anyway.

It does hurt. A lot and I can feel tears prick my eyes. I don't know how Brittany did this with that damn smile on her face and that look in her eye. She looked at me with encouraging warmth but all I can manage to focus on is the needles digging into my skin. Every prick hurts and every prick is followed by another prick and over and over again until tears form in my eyes.

Then the burn happens. As much as each stab hurts the pain of the mass hurts more. How anyone would get vast stretches of their skin done like this is beyond me. Who would do this more than once?

I look up to see Brittany's continuously wrapped attention and happy smile and I know. Brittany would do this again. Easily. I on the other hand am thinking how glad I am that my tattoo is simpler and smaller than Brittany's. There's more black to compensate the colour of my skin but not nearly as much ink overall.

I gasp as the man finally steps away and I know that he's finished.

Brittany looks into my eyes when she say, "It's beautiful San." She leans in and presses a firm kiss to my lips. "Thank you."

I let out a shaky laugh. "You'd better make this up to me."

I gulp at the smirk she wears as she nods.

— s — — b —

Brittany guides Santana back through Hunna district more gently than when they went in. It's grown dark around them since then and Brittany wants to delay their return to the House for as long as possible. Santana keeps moaning about the hurt of her tattoo and Brittany assures her with a kiss that the burn will fade soon.

Brittany buys them food at a stall similar to Mike's when Santana tells her that he only opens for lunch. The food is just as strange, though not nearly as nice as Michael's and Brittany refrains from eating any insects(so far as she's aware).

They leave Hunna district behind them as the first stars start twinkling above them. When Brittany can see the warm glow from the wide window's of Corcorans Santana's grip on her arm tightens and their footsteps slow.

"I don't think I'm ready to go back," Brittany mutters.

Santana sighs in relief and turns her body so she's standing in front of Brittany. "Neither am I," she admits with a smile.

Brittany grins as she watches Santana glance about the street. She thinks that Santana is looking for a fresh destination and looks to her left and right as well. She's surprised when Santana holds her cheek to regain her attention and leans in to kiss her gently. It's chaste and her lips are gone in an instant but it's full of promise.

"Come on," Santana says with a hint of blush changing her skin tone. "I know a place we can go."

The hand held against Brittany's cheek is gone and Brittany feels the chill air tickle her skin. It's soon replaced by a whole body warmth when Santana takes her hand and guides her back in the direction they came, across the street and to another saloon. The sign fixed to the bricks mark it as _The Dog and Duck_, complete with a picture of a dog and a duck underneath.

Brittany laughs at the absurd name, surprised that she has failed to notice it before tonight. She supposes that every other time she's been on this street her thoughts have been otherwise occupied. Santana grins up at her with a happy smile and Brittany's breath catches at the way she looks at her. That beautiful smile always takes her breath away and she has to wonder if there will ever be a time when it doesn't(she really doubts there will be).

"It's run by a limey, blue blood fresh off the boat." She says it with a hint of scorn for the englishman but there is no real malice in her tone. "But he runs it nearly as well as Corcorans."

Brittany just nods. She then lets go of Santana's hand so she can shift it gently to the crook of her elbow as she knows an english gentleman should do.

Brittany smirks as she says in as proper sounding an accent as possible, "Miss Santana, would you like to accompany me inside this establishment?"

Santana squeezes the hand at Brittany's elbow. "Of course kind sir."

Brittany guides them through the doors, keeping her bubbling giggles as low in her throat and belly as she can. She feels intoxicated by Santana as always but she can't forget herself.

Inside is not dissimilar to Corcorans. There's only a bar and a few ordinary dining tables rather than the gaming tables though. The bar at one end is well stocked and Brittany can smell what must be a well stocked kitchen that's only just been packed up for the night. The place is dimly lit but homely enough and the occupants are mostly occupied with friendly sounding discussions over drinks. There are only two people in the whole place drinking alone; one by the door and the other at the bar. The second is looking back and forth between Brittany and his drink but he seems harmless enough. Brittany decides that she likes this place very much and not just because Santana brought her.

Santana leads them to an unoccupied table and Brittany rushes to draw a chair from underneath and offer it to her. Santana leans up to press a kiss to Brittany's cheek. Brittany misses how Santana sits in the chair, finding her already seated and looking expectantly at her. Brittany isn't ready to sit down just yet and she shakes herself from the mild haze and glances at the bar.

"What would you like to drink?" she asks happily. "You know I'm just hankering for a whiskey," She says it with a wink that makes Santana giggle. Brittany feels a sense of pride at seeing Santana's eyes crinkle into her smile yet again.

Santana looks thoughtful for a moment before her expression returns to the wide smile and she laughs. "Better make that two whiskeys." Brittany rolls her eyes, making Santana laugh all the more. "You may as well get used to it Sweets."

Brittany hums her response with a huffed "Okay". She bows low, taking Santana's hand and brushing a kiss over her knuckles. "As you wish m'lady."

Santana grins up at her like Brittany is the most wonderful person in the world. "Why thank you Mr Pierce."

It makes Brittany's stomach flip.

What Brittany wouldn't give to stay here, in this moment with Santana but she can feel the eyes of more than a few people in the room on her back. She turns to the bar with a quiet sigh, walking up to stand by the only occupant who peers up at her owlishly, his eyes flickering briefly to Santana and back again. When Brittany gives a polite nod the man's eyes widen further. He looks over her features and then down her body to her boots. By the time his gaze makes it back to her eyes Brittany is feeling very uncomfortable and longing for the bar tender to return from wherever he's disappeared to.

The man's face is filthy with dirt but Brittany can still see the red brought to his cheeks from the alcohol that is no doubt streaming through his veins. His hair is almost too caked in dust to tell but she thinks he might be blonde. She looks down his hunched frame to see a rather fine jacket and sturdy boots. He must have money, or perhaps used to have money. Maybe he's lost it all in a failed claim.

Brittany turns away with a nervous cough but the man keeps staring. "Can I help you?" she asks finally.

The man blinks at her a few more times before opening his mouth. Nothing comes out for a moment but then he clears his throat. "Did I just hear your name is Pierce?" his accent is clear and polished like her own. He's as educated as his once fine clothes might suggest.

Brittany doesn't know how to respond so she just nods.

The man's eyes get even wider. "Well, aren't you a long way from home," he finally exclaims with a smile. His eyes are amused as they flicker over the insignia on her uniform.

Brittany looks around the room, looking for some explanation to present itself. Coming up short she just turns back to the man. "I'm sorry, have we ever met before?"

The man shakes his head, "Not unless we've passed in a dark alley right?" He laughs holding out his hand. "Bryan Ryan, you might have heard of me."

Brittany's eyes narrow as she fails to take his offered hand. She has heard of him. He's a petty criminal from San Francisco. She can't remember anything specific but if he would greet Brent Pierce like this then she knows he's got to be bad news. There was little she could do to stifle her brothers reputation, even with the months of her doing nothing but working quietly with her head down and thoroughly away from criminal activity.

She feels her heart thumping in her chest as a subtle fear pushes through her. This man is dangerous. The months after her father died had been safe enough for her. She moved through the streets with relative anonymity. Unfortunately—once the word got out of Niklaus Pierce's death—things had gotten… _complicated_. Everyone that had been too scared to speak out before, started whispering about the tall, Pierce boy with cold eyes and pale hair that performed so eagerly as his father's enforcer. A run in with a boy who's father was killed by Brittany's brother brought the truth, finally to her ears.

Bryan Ryan just stares up at her, through his alcohol haze as if they are friends. If he goes back to San Francisco with tales of meeting the infamous _Pale Shadow,_ who knows what dirty element of her brother's past could follow her here. She remembers Bryan Ryan had a bit of a reputation for selling information. No loyalty. A gutter mongrel, begging for scrap meat from the most powerful master he can find.

"I think you have me confused with someone else," Brittany tries to insist, turning back to glare at the bottles behind the bar.

"Oh, I don't think so," Bryan says, paying no attention to the threat in Brittany's deepened voice.

Brittany turns back to the man. She can see Santana watching them curiously and she lowers her voice to be sure she can't overhear them. She leans in so Bryan can't possibly miss the dangerous edge of her voice. "I think you'll find _Mr Ryan_ that you _are_ mistaken and that you will in fact be leaving Clothier, having never been to a town by that name in your life."

Bryan just laughs, causing Brittany to jolt back from him. "You think you can threaten me?" He looks over her uniform again, before coming back to her face. "_Private_ Pierce?" he says with scorn evident in every syllable. "I would never have believed the Pierce dog could be muzzled by a uniform," he glances over to Santana. "Or a skirt. You think I don't know what this means?" he says tapping at the blue shirt with the back of his hand. "It means you ran away like the little coward that—"

His words cut off in a choking gargle as Brittany pulls him abruptly from his chair and presses her arm against his throat. By pure luck she's managed to pin his arm between his back and the bar. The other she grabs easily with her left hand as her right arm presses harder at his throat. She hears Santana's gasp and the clatter of chairs as several people stand to witness the scuffle.

Brittany doesn't know what has come over her specifically. She does know three things however: this man could bring all sorts of hell down on her; her father's enemies, and the petty criminals that filled his place could easily come here and try to use Santana against her; and no one _ever_ calls Brittany Pierce a coward. Until this moment, she never knew that word could spark such anger in her but now, combined with a threat to Santana's life she feels fury burning through her.

She doesn't turn to Santana as she throws a rough command over her shoulder. "Santana go, now."

Santana doesn't move and Brittany resigns to having her be witness to this.

Brittany bends low to hiss her words menacingly into Bryan's—increasingly pale—face. "Do you really think I'm out here on my own?" Brittany growls, glancing around as though silently acknowledging 'her men'. She hardly knows what she's saying, only that she needs a guarantee he won't sell her out. "I have more power than your tiny mind could understand _pig_." She lets her voice smooth out to a low, confident timbre. She's exceedingly glad of both the low light and the fact that this man is shorter than she is as he stares up at her.

She can feel Santana watching them and there is a wrenching feeling in her gut as she considers what Santana must be seeing in this moment. Brittany focuses on the man under her, forcing her forearm against his throat hard enough to hear his breath stutter.

She continues to talk in a calm, even voice just inches from his grimy face. "Are you here alone?" she asks.

He nods rapidly and Brittany can tell that he can't even try to lie at this point.

Her grip tightens against her throat. "Good. That will make it that much easier for you to leave Clothier tomorrow and never come back. And when you get to whatever hole you call your home, you will lay so low that not even the roaches will notice your existence. Do you understand?"

She loosens her hold just enough so Bryan can nod furiously.

Brittany smirks and lets her face fall lower until she knows her eyes will be shrouded in the shadow of her cap. "And do you know what to say if you see any of Goulsby's men?"

"Y-yes!" he gasps. "Pierce is dead and if he weren't then he wouldn't be one to be messin with."

It's not the answer she was expecting but it will do. "And the girl?" she asks, nodding toward Santana.

"W-what girl?" he asks in the wormy way that only the most spineless of gutter dogs can manage.

She breaths a silent sigh of relief, "Good, now get out of Clothier you filthy ass licker before I slit your throat." She forces a smile onto her face to hide what she knows would be a grimace of pain at the though of slitting anyone's throat. She lets the smile turn into a smirk. "I have no doubt that you'll make excellent pig swill Mr Ryan."

She releases her hold against his throat and he slumps to the floor. She realises with a disgusted grimace that he must have fainted. She recoils quickly, forcibly reminding herself that her actions were necessary. She has to protect Santana. Bryan saw them together and if her father's enemies found out that Brent is still alive Santana could be in danger.

She turns toward Santana who is standing with wide eyes and a hand covering her mouth. She's stuttering over a question. Brittany doesn't know what. Knowing that the man could still be watching them, she grabs Santana roughly by her arm and spins her around.

She breathes into her ear, "I'm sorry, please just walk out with me."

She tugs Santana against her and says loud enough for the men in the saloon to hear, "Didn't I tell you to get the hell out?"

She continues to guide Santana by the arm until they're not only out of the building but half way down the street. She doesn't let go until they are hidden deep in the shadows between two buildings.

She loosens her hold on Santana's arms, her hands slipping to her waist and guiding her back to the wall on one side so Santana can lean there for support should she need it. Brittany doesn't know yet if Santana will be open to her even touching her after what just happened so she releases her hold on Santana's waist quickly and takes a short step back.

Brittany looks at her boots. "I'm so sorry you had to see that Santana. I never—"

She's cut off as Santana's lips are suddenly pressed firmly against her own. Brittany half stumbles against the suddenness of the attack but Santana just kisses her with even greater passion than she has yet experienced.

She pulls back, her hands against Santana's waist again. "San, I don't—" she doesn't get to say anymore as Santana pushes her fingers into her hair pulling Brittany's lips back to her own and pushing them back against the opposite wall of the alley.

Brittany stops trying to talk when her back hits the wall, letting Santana guide the kiss and matching her feverish kiss for feverish kiss.

Brittany has never felt anything like it before and she lets out a silent prayer—she doesn't know to whom—that _this_ feeling will never stop. Her hands shift automatically across the curve of Santana's hips and onto her back. She feel them drifting down but forces them back up between Santana's shoulders. The action works to pull Santana even closer as she shifts to stand on her tiptoes and match Brittany's height. Brittany feels Santana's breasts press against her and she groans into the kiss as Santana's hips jolt forward, her own shifting so they seem to lock together perfectly.

Brittany can feel her heart beating against her ribcage and she can imagine that wild animal again, thrashing around in her chest. The animal that wants Santana as much as she does.

Santana's lips slip from her own as she let out another groan. "Oh God, Britt," she gasps, her lips brushing against the edge of Brittany's lips.

It's a plea for something that Brittany knows she doesn't fully comprehend. All she knows is that she needs to get Santana back to Corcorans and she needs to get her there now.

— s — — b —

I don't know what came over me. Just seeing Brittany like that. The hard line of her shoulders, the way she commanded not just the attention of the man under her arm but of every man in the room. It was the most affecting thing I have ever witnessed. Like the thrill I feel every time she looks at me with _that_ smile except much _much_ stronger. The power that radiated from her, that terrified every man in the room only drew me more surely to her. Knowing that there is a firm, feminine body under that uniform only serves to make her actions so much more stimulating. She's truly a goddess among men.

She looks at me with _that_ smile as she takes my hand and guides us back onto the main thorough fair. Her head turns left and right and I tug slightly to the right, knowing that she's trying to get her bearings to make our way back to Corcorans. She steps forward with her shoulders squared.

Her right hand hovers over the bayonet at her hip as she glances back toward the Dog and Duck. I don't think anyone would be brave or stupid enough after the display of force Brittany just put on but I'm not about to recommend Brittany relax anytime soon. I'm quite confident that there will be plenty of time for that in the hours between now and dawn.

— s — — b —

Brittany continues to look up and down the street. She doesn't know what she'll do if she sees Bryan Ryan again. Her hand drifts to the blade at her waist. Could she use it?

She's broken from her morbid thoughts by a delighted laugh. Santana is looking at her with the brightest smile, like Brittany has proven herself terribly amusing.

"What's so funny?"

"So serious Private Pierce," Santana adopts a deeper voice and pulls her face into a very serious expression.

Brittany just looks at her confused until the serious expression breaks and Santana erupts into another bout of giggles.

Brittany can't help the adoring look that she knows is on her face when she finally smiles down at Santana. "You're a goof," she says, giving Santana's hand a brief squeeze. "Let's get back already."

Santana laughs again. "Any more monsters in the dark Pierce?"

Brittany feels the frown pull at her features again. Then she sees the sparkle in Santana's eye and she understands. Santana is playing a game. And she wants Brittany to play as well. Brittany smirks as Santana drags her by their connected hands into the nearest pool of shadow. Brittany wonders if Santana has drawn her away to kiss her again and the thought causes her to pull in a sharp breath.

Santana leans in again but this time she bypasses Brittany's lips to hover over her ear. "We need to keep to the shadows," she whispers in a gruff voice that sends a shiver up Brittany's spine.

Brittany nods and squeezes Santana's hand to signal she's ready.

They look out into the street where light from the lanterns mark pools of yellow defending themselves against the consuming dark. Sometimes Brittany piers from the light into the dark and she fears what can be laying in the hidden depths. Now she knows exactly what hides there because Santana has made the dark _their_ hiding place.

Santana leaps off suddenly and Brittany has no choice but to follow quickly after her. Brittany will always follow. From shadow to shadow, they leap and dart stifling their giggles of barely repressed glee.

They hesitate on the edge of the squares of light pouring from the expansive Corcorans windows. Their destination is inside and they know they'll have to get there sooner rather than later. Brittany just hope Santana has a plan.

"Maybe if we move quickly?" Brittany suggests.

Santana nods, "Yes, and if you stay close behind me. We'll go straight to an empty room without talking to another soul lest they delay our progress."

Brittany wonders how staying close can help but decides it doesn't matter when Santana stands directly in front of her, pressing her back to Brittany's front.

Santana leans back to murmur into Brittany's neck. "_Close_ behind me Sweets."

Brittany feels another shudder pass down her spine at Santana's tone. Santana must feel it because she giggles and rubs her thumb over Brittany's knuckles before darting into the first square of golden light.

— s — — b —

Brittany stumbles into the room ahead of me, laughing in that delirious way I love to hear.

"You were supposed to stay behind me," I say, breathing heavily as I close the door behind us and press my heated back against it.

Brittany tosses off her cap and gives me _that_ look accompanied by a smirk. We come together in the instant after. Brittany's body presses mine firmly into the timber as she stares into my eyes and both her hands hold my hips firmly in place. I don't hesitate to wrap my arms around her neck, drawing her in for a surprisingly chaste kiss. Meanwhile Brittany's hands shift so her hips can press more firmly into mine.

I've had enough of her overshirt in the way so I pull both her shirts aggressively from her slacks. Brittany giggles against me, helping by forgoing the buttons and separating from me long enough to pull her shirt up and over her head. I make equally short work of my blouse and skirts, leaving me in the layers of corset and chamise. There's little more flesh visible than normal and yet Brittany's warmth feels that much closer.

Brittany's gaze falls from my eyes to my chest and back again. I smirk when she blushes. I looks down, giving her permission to do the same as I take the hands at my hips and bring them to the top clasp of my corset. I then tangle our fingers in the task of loosening the top fastening. Brittany takes over on the second and I let my shoulders fall to the wall. It's oddly freeing letting her take control of the situation and the feel of her knuckles working between the layers of fabric is nothing short of exhilarating.

When the corset is tossed into the nearby chair I regain my hold on her neck and draw her closer. Our lips fuse together quickly and I taste her tongue a moment later. She groans against me and I use my new leverage against her shoulders to lift my legs and wrap them around her waist.

Brittany's hands drop from my hips to settle on my ass so there's nothing but a few thin layers of cotton between Brittany's hands and my skin. A moan is drawn from deep in my chest and my head falls back. I see beautiful eyes before I'm surging forward again, feeling a shock run through me at the blissful contact of her lips against mine.

I try to push my fingers into her hair but the braid interrupts my progress. I quickly pull the tie from the end and thread my fingers through until the braid is gone and I can run my short nails across her scalp.

Brittany's hands squeeze at my ass making my fingers tug harder at her hair. She turns us away from the door and as my weight settles more firmly across her hips I can only love that she is so strong. We fall to the bed and with Brittany on top, settled between my legs a fresh moan echoes between us.

Brittany's tongue nudges against my lips and I open my mouth to taste her more fully. With every lave of her tongue there is a matching pressure of her lower body pushing against me and I can feel my body responding with lightning speed.

After several long, drawn out kisses we both have to pull back to catch our breaths but Brittany stays close, her nose nudging tenderly against mine and her lips brushing my cheek. The pressure of her taught abdomen against me makes me feel like my body is actually humming.

"Brittany," I say her name breathlessly.

She mumbles an 'ahuh' but doesn't stop nuzzling her nose and lips against my cheek.

"We should slow down for a second." Did I really just say that? Oh God, I really did. Am I panicking? Oh, God I am. I don't know what I'm doing or how I let myself get so out of control.

"Why?" Brittany asks as her nuzzling drifts down, across my jaw and to my neck.

I had so many reasons for keeping us apart in these past weeks. We should slow down because… Because of reasons. Sound and important reasons.

Her body shifts and presses into me again, making me completely lose the thread of my thoughts. Her hands drift under my shoulders and down my back to reattach themselves to my ass. I see stars before I can even try to retrieve my thoughts.

"I er—I think we need to um think about this," I get out eventually through heavy breaths, my fingers digging into Brittany's hair essentially negating my words. I need to focus before I do something that takes us past the point of no return.

"But I don't want to," she grumbles, licking at my neck and grinding more deliberately into me.

A partly exasperated, mostly turned on noise scratches up my throat in a growl. "Britt, Brittany stop." I could almost slap myself when she does as I ask.

As soon as the last word is voiced, Brittany's hips stop their intoxicating movements. Her lips pull away from the skin of my neck and her hands withdraw to a more neutral position on my lower back.

Now, how do I explain every one of my fears to her?

— s — — b —

"Why, what's wrong?" Brittany asks, feeling that sting of rejection rising in her chest. Over and again, Santana says no with her voice when Brittany can't help but be drawn in by the yes in her eyes; the pleading in her touch.

"I guess I'm scared?" Santana tries to explain. Her eyes now plead with Brittany to understand. "I don't know what will happen. I know what I want to do. God Britt, there are so many things that I want to do to you, _for_ you."

Brittany feels a shiver run through her at Santana's ardent words.

Santana closes her eyes as if to clear her thoughts. "But I also know that sex can change things. I guess I'm scared of what it can mean. I'm worried of what it will mean to us. If you'll ever look at me the same." She worries at her bottom lip.

Brittany doesn't understand. "But how could I look at you differently? If we… make love, then couldn't there only be good things?"

She hesitates. "I know—you're right, and I want to. I just—I just." She sighs in frustration at her inability to express what she means.

"Can't yet," Brittany finishes for her. She looks into Santana's eyes, searching for some clues, some assurance that Santana still wants her. "It's okay," Brittany says finally, knowing it's her only answer.

Relief fills Santana's bright eyes and Brittany swallows her own desire and buries it as deeply as she can. She loves Santana too much to do anything different. She lays properly on the bed so Santana can reclaim her usual position along Brittany's right side.

Brittany supports the back of her own neck with her free arm so she can look down at Santana where she lays against her chest. "Did you know that the Sun and Moon are lovers?"

Santana stifles a laugh at the abrupt change in topic though she can't stop the sparkle in her eyes or the twitch in her cheek as she shakes her head.

Brittany nods sagely. "Yes, it's true. They met and fell in love before either of them knew such a thing was possible." Santana freezes in her arms but Brittany keeps on with her story. "The earth was jealous of their love, separating them in time and distance."

Santana settles again, carefully laying her hand below where she must be able to see the outline of Brittany's sun beneath the thin undershirt. She sighs into Brittany's chest and holds her tighter. Brittany could swear she feels a tingle pulse from the sun just for Santana.

"Have you seen the moon in the daylight sky?" Brittany asks, to continue her story.

Santana nods.

"It doesn't happen very often but when it does you know that the moon will bathe in the sun's light for as long as possible; the sun will kiss the moon for as long as they're together."

Santana nudges her nose against Brittany's jaw and Brittany brings Santana's wrist to her lips. She presses only one kiss there but holds Santana's palm to her cheek as she finishes the story.

"So even with all that distance and all that time separating them the sun and the moon never stop loving each other." Brittany moves her left hand to settle over Santana's waist, just below the moon crescent tattoo. "And they know that someday they will come back together in an eclipse. When they're bodies and souls become one as they make love in the darkened sky."

"Two celestial beings too bright to belong to anyone else." Santana repeats her words from earlier in the day and Brittany nods.

Santana sighs against her and Brittany feels a tightness in her chest and her throat. She can feel the words dancing on the tip of her tongue. The words she so desperately wants to hear spoken back to her.

"Santana I—" soft lips cut off her words as Santana kisses her deeply. Brittany is sure that she can feel all the things that she's longed for in that kiss; in the fingertips that push through her hair and grip at her shoulder. She holds Santana ever closer and wishes she need never let go.

— s — — b —

I wake up with the first light of dawn to penetrate the window's curtain. A spike of panic runs through me as I realise that I am alone and the space beside me is long cold in Brittany's absence. I haven't woken without her after a night together since that morning Shelby kicked her out. I sit bolt upright to hunt down my clothes but then a folded piece of paper and a metal case slips down the pillow to bump into my hand.

I open the case first and see two photographs inside. One is of a handsome though stern boy who looks so very much like Brittany. The other is the boys reflection in female form. Brittany and her brother Brent are captured and framed in the silver of a daguerreotype and held in my hands. I run my fingertip over the glass of Brittany's likeness. She's younger in the image than she is now but there's something of _that_ smile already apparent in her expression.

I keep the photographs open against the pillow as I take up the creamy coloured page. My name is on the outside, calling me to open it. I do so with shaking hands.

_My Dearest Santana_

_I'm sorry I couldn't wake with you this morning. As much for my own sake as yours since you are so beautiful in the light from the sunrise. I know it's a selfish desire but I suspect you like waking up with me as well. You always look so peaceful in my arms and you make the sweetest little noise when you first wake. The way your nose scrunches and you bury your face against my chest or my shoulder always makes me smile._

_I'm kept from all those wonderful things now because my platoon is being sent out on a scouting assignment. Anderson calls it an assignment but I think that makes it sound far too dull. I prefer to say adventure. We've done nothing but train since I joined the army and though I have no wish to be shooting at anyone, I look forward to the chance to prove myself. Yet again, I am expressing a selfish desire but I guess that just proves that you really are the better of us._

_I am sorry for my deception in not revealing my imminent departure and I pray that you can forgive me. I don't know how long we will be gone for or if I will be allowed to communicate with you while I'm gone. If I can, then you can be sure that I will write you every day(I only hope my messy hand is not too irritating to read). Just like you promised to keep your heart safe for me—and believe I am holding you to that—I promise to keep my heart and my life safe for you._

_I will miss you and be thinking of you in every moment._

_My heart is yours Santana, if you will have it._

_I love you. I'm in love with you._

_Forever yours,_

_B._

She signs off with just the first letter, knowing the dangers if someone other than me were to see this letter and not wanting to leave the lie of her brother's name. I can feel the tears that stream down my face and I do nothing to brush them away. Those words that still haven't been spoken aloud between us, so boldly laid down to paper. I've always known that she was the braver of us both and now I have written proof.

She loves me. And I love her with all my heart.


	20. My Dearest Santana

**AN:** Hello my lovelies. I love reading the thoughts of the lovely, wonderful cool cats that reviewed. Thankyou.

M rating applies in this chapter for language, (lame PG level)violence and drug references.

Also, there are certain unattractive attitudes expressed in this chapter that are the characters' and _not_ my own. I won't say anymore cause of spoilers, I just want to acknowledge that the violence portrayed in this chapter is an unfortunate reality of history, not something to aspire to.

Now, in the wake of the most recent episode of Glee(aka: oh please stop messing with the fandom RM) and ahead of the next I would just like to say, Chin up, carry on and ship Brittana. Right will win out!

And remember, Brittany and Santana share dancing, singing dentist chair fantasies.

* * *

Clothier, New Mexico 1875

The town is little more than a string of buildings, half constructed in raw timbers and plaster. There are a few sturdier looking brick buildings but not many. The most permanent looking structures are all businesses and there are no decent houses to speak of. I guess I'll be sharing a tent for a while longer.

When the carriage stops and Tenaka wakes with an aggressive snort I can't help the disgusted scrunching of my nose or the curl of my lip. The more time I spend with this man, the harder it is to hide my abhorrence for him. Even without his dragging us through state after state, he is still a miserable human being.

I know I should be grateful that he hasn't just left me behind somewhere. It was a close thing back in Kansas but he came back for me. I still don't know why really but I haven't forgotten his words from before Papá's funeral. The way he looks at me some days I do wonder if I've finally reached the right age, the right shape that he might decide I'm finally old enough.

The usual, unpleasant shiver passes over me at the thought while I follow Tenaka out into the bright sunlight.

— s — — b —

Shelby Corcoran leans against the railing of the newly finished deck of her Saloon and watches the newcomers with interest. Every new face is a potential customer or trading partner and she won't miss a single opportunity. It's been a difficult few months but everything is finally starting to come together.

Prospectors are starting to find silver as well as gold in the hills and that bodes very well for the impending growth of this new settlement. At this rate,the town could be self sustaining within a few years, based on commerce and transport rather than gold.

Shelby shakes her head at herself. She's too ambitious for her own good some days. Not today though, as she looks back into her saloon which is already busy with the trade of early evening though the sun has yet to settle anywhere near the horizon.

On the street she sees a disgruntled and dishevelled man push his way out of a coach. He peers up and down the street as a girl lands softly in the dust behind him. She's maybe fifteen years old and beautiful for someone so young. She wears a stern expression, her eyes darting up and down the street obviously cataloguing and assessing her surroundings. When the man turns to grab at her wrist Shelby hopes that she's his daughter and not… anything else. No matter their relationship, she already knows she'll be seeing that man again.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

I push the latest pile of marked pages and receipts away from me glad to be finally done with at least that part of the work. If I didn't know that this was the alternative to servicing Tricks then I'm sure I'd have a lot to say about this enforced _thinking_ Shelby has me engaged in. But the fact is, in exchange for doing this extra work, Shelby keeps me from the floor. And I can finally begin to relax.

Tina is behind the bar, shuffling around bottles for tonight's trade. She says as little as usual, offering me a drink with a tilted bottle and high eyebrows. I shake my head in the negative knowing that for all that I've learned, I still need to focus if I'm going to get all these numbers right.

Shelby's taught me so many things in the past few weeks that I've been sure more than once that my brain would start making the move to exit my head. I do the books, the budget and even order our regular supplies. I manage the girls and arrange their schedule with Beiste. I don't manage our pay yet but I'm sure Shelby will give me that responsibility eventually.

It was a surprise the first time she approached me with a notebook and a determined glare. I didn't know Shelby trusted me like this. Hell, I didn't know I _could_ be trusted with anything like this. I'd been taught reading, writing and arrhythmic of course but I'd had little opportunity to use any of those skills since before I came to Clothier.

With Tina back to arranging glasses I draw the accounts book closer to me and start making the additional notes for last night's trade. Every number and column makes sense to me now and the data goes into all the right places adding up easily enough.

With the final total marked off I lay the pen down and rub at my eyes; I roll my shoulders and my neck. The pressure from leaning over the books on top of all of my usual duties has, as always left me exhausted and it isn't even mid day yet.

The other girls move around behind me, no longer bothering me with questions about what I'm doing or why I don't work the floor with them anymore. They realised that I won't be answering their questions any time soon after I tore Avery apart with particularly acidic observations about her poor flirting technique(I wasn't talking about flirting).

Even I could admit that my temper is running pretty short these days. I thought my frustrations were high when I only got to see Brittany once a week. Now she's been gone for far longer than that. I've received no word from her and no news from any soldier that might know of her. I listen to the few soldiers that make it into Corcorans with a keen interest. I've even gone so far as to ask a few if they'd heard anything from the men that were sent out.

They haven't and it makes my throat constrict with worry every time another man in blue has no answer for me.

Having no means of communication and being so cut off from her makes me anxious in a way I haven't experienced before. Every time a new question for Brittany occurs to me I think I should write it down but then that would just be pages and pages of questions.

If I dared put pen to paper the top question would be, did she mean the words she left in that letter. I can only feel that she must have meant them but I can't help but worry over it. I turn worry at her words the same way that Mercedes does with her prayer beads. Brittany's never lied to me before. That one attempt to protect me from the sadness of her leaving doesn't count. She says she's in love with me; she even wrote it down so I can only believe her.

I carry the letter in my pocket at all times and the photographs remain under my pillow. I would keep the daguerreotypes with me as well but I can't risk any damage to the delicate print.

Of all things that remind me of her though, it's the tattoo that she picked out for me that I cherish the most. The ink imprinted into my skin makes me feel connected to her in a way that differs from the physical objects of the letter and photographs. I understood after she left(once I'd finally stopped crying) why she'd wanted them so very much. Why she'd pleaded with those eyes for me to follow her under the chinaman's needles.

The markings have since scabbed and healed to the point where there is no part of the skin raised. Now, when I run my fingers across the fine lines of the crescent moon—over my ribs in a mirror of Brittany's—I can imagine pale fingers running over the ochre hued sun on Brittany's own skin. For all the distance between us, when I hold the photographs and the letter to my chest, with the ink etched into my skin I feel close to her again. I can sometimes sleep without her.

At my place at the bar I pack up the books into a pile and try to push thoughts of Brittany out of my mind. It doesn't do me any good to be constantly thinking about her. Quinn reminds me often enough how unhealthy it is—sometimes with actual words of warning and sometimes with her own poor example. She somehow spends even more time alone, lost in her thoughts than I do. I know I should talk to her. Taking the books and receipts into Shelby's office, I resolve to do so.

I retrieve the fine key from my pocket to open Shelby's desk drawer and lock away my finished work. I still don't understand why these things have to be locked away but Shelby assures me that it's important. I sit down in the chair behind the desk and rub tiredly at me eyes again. Glancing at the liquor cabinet I try to calculate how long it will take for Shelby to notice if I suddenly disappeared from the House. Not nearly long enough for me to get to our clearing for any length of time.

The clatter of horses hooves draw my attention to the window and I peek out through the sheer curtains. Not that there's any reason for a single horseman to draw my attention but I've taken to checking every time just incase they're carrying letters.

I examine the man to see if I can guess his business. Any time I rush to the door I'm inevitably disappointed and only end up calling attention to myself. This man is carrying a satchel over one shoulder and I try not to get excited. He could be carrying anything.

But he's carrying letters.

My heart begins hammering in my chest. This isn't the first time mail has been brought to the house since Brittany left obviously. But this is the first time that a man clearly _not_ from the mail service has pulled a bundle of letters from an unmarked satchel. I don't know what to do. If I go out there now and the letters aren't for me— If he says any other name but mine…

"Santana Lopez," my name sounds strange spoken in a deep voice from in the saloon.

— s — — b —

_Dear Santana_

_I hope this letter finds you and that you're well. It took some days for me to find out that we have something of a mailing system available to us. There is a boy that travels between every platoon delivering and receiving messages for the main camp in clothier. I've written a number on the envelope of each one just incase you get them out of order or one goes missing._

_I'm not sure how efficient I am at writing letters in this way, describing things I am doing. I don't know if you are able to return my letters either. I have honestly never entered into a true letter writing —coras— correspondence before._

_I should tell you that I am well and my training with Matthew is ongoing. I am able to lift more everyday, though I am never able to truly enjoy my new strength since I am in pain almost constantly. I am also restricted in what I eat which is upsetting when sugar(the food, not the girl) reaches us. The good thing about this diet of Anderson's is that I get extra serves of meat. Sam is very jealous of this._

_I miss the green of the woods near camp and the creek there. I fear I may never be quite clean ever again. Everything is so hot and dry and dusty. We make camp with whatever we can and the white of our tents does little against the heat._

_I hope you are well._

_B._

I turn the page over in my hands looking for more but there isn't anything. I lean back against the wall behind my bed. I've waited weeks for word and this is all I get? I practically snatched the letters from the man who delivered them so I could bring them to my room and finally read Brittany's words.

I don't understand. Have I ruined everything? Have I lost my chance with Brittany? It isn't fair. I wasn't ready, she wasn't ready. We needed more time. I stupidly let myself get carried away on that last night together. I let our hands wander too far only to stop what we both wanted to happen.

I realise that the page in my hands is shaking along with my hands. I swallow tears of disappointment. I'm not disappointed in Brittany(I'm never disappointed by her) but with myself. I'm a coward.

I rip open the envelope labeled with the number 2 in the upper left corner and find it to be almost exactly the same. It begins with just my name this time. It's a little longer than the first as she describes the camp in further detail and tells me a little more about the food she's eating and the supplies that are reaching them(or not) in their zigzagging trek through the wilderness. Nothing though about what she's feeling or thinking. I'm at a loss and all I can think is that the woman who left the letter on my pillow is not the same person to be penning the letters in my hand now.

I rip open the third and the fourth to find them the same. They contain the same generic greeting and unfeeling hope for my good health. I still read every word with rapt attention, grasping at any opportunity to feel a piece of Brittany close to me. Even as she describes cleaning her rifle or repairing her boots I follow along every word as though tracing over the detail in the finest fabric.

I tear open the fifth letter and almost lose all composure as I finally see words that feel like Brittany. That feel like _My Brittany_.

_My Dearest Santana_

_I'm afraid of snakes. I don't know whether I ever told you this but it's true. They're just legless lizards but they can kill you as soon as look at you. Sam says I shouldn't worry and I guess I don't always. There's a rhyme that I should remember._ Red and black venom lack. Red and yellow can kill a fellow. _It's a funny thing to be afraid of something so small._

_I saw the grave of an Indian today. Matt says that they bury their dead and cover the site in heavy stones to keep the animals away and that's why their graves are easier to spot. This one had a stick with feathers and bright gems standing out from the stones. One of the men, Nelson wanted to steal it but Matt said their graves are cursed. I don't think it's true but it kept Nelson away from it. I think he's superstitious._

_I admit that I think of what you might be doing now. I imagine you're preparing for another concert. Will Shelby still let you perform if you aren't still being with Tricks? Unless you are. I want to know but not really. Maybe don't tell me?_

There's a line of writing that's been scribbled out and I hold the letter closer to the light to see what words are hidden underneath. No matter what she says, if there is an insight to what she is thinking then I need to know. I can only make out a few words. There's _expect_ and _keep your promise_ and _don't feel the same_. I don't know what it means but the words that follow give me hope.

_Please be careful Santana._

_B._

_P.S. I miss you Santana._

I take a deep breath. Her tone is still cool but finally, finally I can see some feeling, some truth that lets me hear her voice when I read the words. Even though the sentiment remains cool and distanced, the tone at least is wrapped in Brittany's warmth.

I grab at the sixth and final letter with shaking hands. If the fifth had been an attempt to excise the first four…

_My Dearest Santana_

_There has been some activity with the Indians today(Matt says they are Apache). No one spoke to them and they kept their distance from us but I'll admit to it making me nervous. That's okay though. If nothing ever happened then it wouldn't be much of an adventure. I still refuse to call it an assignment. Adventure is more fitting, especially when I'm on watch and I hear noises out in the dark. I always think of you any time that something exciting or scary happens because I always want to tell you everything. I can imagine your smile or the frown that makes a crinkle in your brow._

_I miss you so much Santana and I wish I could hold you again. My real regret is not telling you how I felt before I left. I still don't know how you feel or how you might be receiving these letters. I realise my first correspondences were a little colder than the first one I left with you. Honestly, I wish I had some way to erase them, even if I no longer have then. Maybe they never reached you. In which case forget I ever mentioned them because they don't matter. What matters is that I love you and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you in person. You might laugh at me if you knew the reasons. I know I laugh at myself and pull at my pigtails or I would if I had any._

_I question over and again why I didn't tell you how deeply I feel for you. Did I mention that I love you? I feel like I should write it a hundred times to make up for the times I didn't let my self say it out loud. I'd shout it to the stars right now but I don't want to scare anyone. Maybe if I think the words as loudly as possible you will feel them. Maybe by the time you get this letter you will have felt the words travel the distance between us._

_I'm still training and Matt is finally teaching me how to fight. More than just hitting things without breaking your thumb since we both know I already have that in the bag._

_I hope you've had the time to visit the clearing and Shelby isn't working you too hard. Are you still learning about how the money works? I never had any skill with numbers._

_I can see you in our clearing now. I wish I was there with you._

_Please be safe. I don't know what you thought might have been hidden under the lines I crossed out in my last letter. I hope I didn't upset you and I can tell you now what they were: "I expect you to keep your promise and keep your heart safe. Even if your heart isn't for me anymore, I want you to be safe for you."_

_I'll keep myself safe for you San._

_I love you._

_B._

I carefully return my letters to their relevant envelopes and lie down on the bed with the daguerreotype open beside me. It's a small comfort but it's all I have.

— s — — b —

Brittany holds me in her arms.

I'm lying against her with my head on her shoulder, one arm draped over her naked torso.

I've never seen Brittany naked but I know she is perfect.

We're in our clearing. The sun is warm and gentle, shining down on us. Even the grass feels soft under the skin of my arm.

Her shoulder is even softer against my cheek and her hair tickles me. She has one arm wrapped around my shoulders with her free hand trailing up and down my arm where it's draped over her stomach. Colours, seem to escape from her fingertips where they contact my skin, fading after a few moments to be replaced with new colour on her next path.

It makes me smile.

"You're awake," Brittany says with her own smile clear in her voice.

"No I'm not," I sigh, my smile remaining strong as I watch indigo chase ruby red over my skin before disappearing.

"I can feel you watching me," she says.

I giggle and close my eyes.

Brittany's fingers stop their movement but I keep my eyes closed. I feel light fingertips on my cheek, then my eyes, then my lips. Colours burst beyond my closed eyes but I refuse to open them even as I chase Brittany's fingertips to nip at them with my teeth.

"San?"

"Hmm?"

"Open your eyes."

"Uh uhn."

"Please?"

I grin. "Nope."

"Fine."

Wait what?

I squeal, absolutely delighted when Brittany moves suddenly to tip me onto my back. The soft grass tickles against my bare skin and I realise for the first time that my torso is just as naked as Brittany's. My eyes snap open when Brittany follows me to hold her body over mine.

I can feel her thighs on either side of my own but her arms, braced on either side of me keep her body elevated. She grins down at me with _that_ smile, her hair curtaining her face and obscuring my view of anything but her.

I reach up to stroke her cheek and she nuzzles into the palm of my hand. Her lips are soft and wet.

Then they're on mine and so absolutely perfect. She kisses me softly but it isn't enough. I push my fingers into her hair and try to pull her into me. She resists and I whine pitifully. She grins through the kiss before pulling back to see me pout. She kisses me again in a way that makes me feel like she can't actually resist the urge to do so.

"I wish you were really here," I say, feeling that empty yearning need for her tear through me. It's only an echo of what I normally feel but it still hurts.

"So do I," she whispers. "More than anything."

She leans back far enough that she can look down between our bodies. I blush as her gaze travels down my chest. I realise where she's looking when her fingertips move to trace over the crescent moon inked into the flesh over the ribs on my right side. A low heat is sparked and a deep blue shimmer streams out from under her fingertips. At the same time, a golden haze escapes Brittany's left side where her sun mirrors my moon. She withdraws her hand and the two colours connect in a shimmering emerald green between us.

We both look up at the same time and I feel my heart melt at the look of pure adoration in her crystal blue eyes.

There's a strange sound and Brittany blinks. As she does her colour fades but then returns in the moment after.

"What happened," I ask, worry clear in my voice.

Brittany looks thoughtful for a moment. "I think I'm waking up."

I pull her back toward me but she keeps a space between us, holding herself so close but not close at all.

"I miss you Santana." Her words are soft.

"Please don't go," I plead.

"I'm here, even when I'm somewhere else. I promise." She presses her hand over my heart and I want to believe that it's enough. "I love you," she says, tears shimmering in her eyes.

I gulp past my heart rising in my throat. "I love you Britt. Please. I want you back. Please come back." But she's gone.

I jump to my feet, clothes now covering me fully as I spin on the spot, desperately searching for her or for some glimpse of her. I already know that she's gone.

But she promised. She promised to be safe, to come back to me.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1875

Quinn knows a lot of things. She knows European history, geology and biology. She knows French and understands German. She knows her real name is Lucy but won't be mentioning that to anyone soon. She knows that she can't go back home or her father could have her killed. What she doesn't know is what she will do now. She got on the first stagecoach West that she could barter payment for. Her meagre possessions offer her little currency but she has always had a knack for negotiations. Her choices are limited though; that's clear enough.

The end of the line for her coach is Clothier. A nothing prospector town somewhere in the middle of the New Mexico Territory. It's barely free of savages with the wild desert nipping at the heels of their facade of civilisation. That's exactly what Quinn likes about it.

She steps out onto the street, busy with late afternoon traffic. She does her best to stand tall and appear older than she is. No one needs to know that she is little more than a child. No one needs to get it in their head that she is anything less than _meant_ to be here.

Quinn glances at the other people arriving, some of which had obviously bribed their way into the mail service coach. Why hadn't she thought of that?

It's just on dark and she needs somewhere to stay. Somewhere cheap or if she can make it happen, free. She looks along the row of businesses looking for a hotel. Her gaze lands on a new looking brick building with a freshly painted sign naming it Corcoran's Drink and Gaming House. A woman stands at the front leaning casually against the railing that wraps around the front deck. Her casual stance is fake though, Quinn can tell. The woman's eyes are analysing the crowd moving about in front of the building. She's looking for someone or something important.

Quinn takes confident strides toward this Corcorans and glances in through the wide glass windows. Whoever Corcoran is, he must have paid a pretty penny to have windows so large. Quinn can see that it's a wise investment already though. The inside looks warm and inviting. From the street she can see a well stocked bar and a room full of half dressed girls looking pretty and welcoming under warm lights. With only mild surprise Quinn realises that it's actually a brothel.

Quinn had never seen a brothel before, only read of their existence in the San Francisco Chronicle and books that her father hadn't wanted her to read. She'd never imagined them to have such a happy and warm atmosphere.

"Like what you see?" the woman at the top of the stairs asks jokingly.

Quinn looks up at her surprised she'd even been noticed. She looks the woman up and down, making her own assessments. The woman is certainly well dressed and she carries a certain air of authority so dissimilar to any other woman Quinn's met before.

Even without speaking to her Quinn can assume so much. "Are you Corcoran?" she asks.

The woman's eyebrows go up. "Call me Shelby," she says in place of confirmation. "Although most people here wouldn't _assume_ my name to be on the building."

Quinn smirks, "I'm not most people."

"Clearly."

Quinn steps forward, shifting her case out of her right hand so she can offer it to Ms Corcoran. "I'm Quinn."

— s — — b —

Clothier New Mexico, 1880

The next letter from Brittany arrives a few days later, on its own with the numeral 8 in the top left corner of the envelope. I demand the boy who delivered it to empty his satchel but the seventh letter just isn't there. I take my lone letter and slip out of the main saloon to hide away in my room.

The letter is several pages long but it begins the same as the last one had.

_My Dearest Santana_

It's all I can do not to cry at the beautiful simplicity of Brittany's words and I have to close my eyes for a few moments before I can read any further.

_I truly hope you are well and that you aren't worried too much on my behalf since I am well enough. I'm only missing you._

_If you can believe it, I can now tell you about the man that attacked me in my first few nights there. Do you remember when I was all bruised up? Of course you do(I might forget the bruises one day but I'll never forget how you made me feel better). The private's name is Karofsky. He serves in a different platoon than I do but he had chosen me as his favourite victim. He's a bully but I think he's gained a new perspective. I also think that once you hear what happened to him you won't want so much to hurt him so much(you might also laugh)._

_The two platoons that left Clothier that morning included mine and Private Karofsky's. I haven't seen much of him these past weeks though because we have been scouting different areas, moving from a central camp outwards. It's been very boring for my platoon but apparently Karofsky's ran into some trouble with the Indians and Karofsky got shot._

_When we came back to our main camp we walked into such a ruckus and there were men bleeding all over the place with arrows in limbs and everything(which wasn't funny at all). There was one man bellowing and screaming over all the others and that was Karofsky cause he got an arrow straight in the groin. He's alive but the medic had to leave him with a little less in his trousers than before._

_I wouldn't normally feel any enjoyment from someone else's pain but I think you'll agree with me and with Sam that he deserved what he got. Some of the other men have made the joke that "at least he has a spare on the other side". I've never heard so many jokes about_ twig and berries _or_ frank and beans _in my life. Karofsky has already attempted something like an apology to me for his treating me the way the other men are treating him now, like not enough of a man._

_I wrote to you how I'm learning to fight but now I've also been learning all the ways to kill a man. I never knew there could be so many ways to hurt someone without even holding a weapon. That's what Matt has been teaching me. He encourages me to keep up gymnastics and the strength training with Sam and Anderson but Matt is teaching me to fight._

_Did I mention that I miss you Santana?_

_I wish I could speak to you properly Santana. You feel so far away when I know you're the only person who understands me. The costume and the mask I wear Santana, I know you understand these things. The mask is so heavy and I don't know if I can see a time even far in the future when I might ever be done with it. When I can just be myself again._

_I sometimes worry that even if I can take off the costume there might not be anything of that person I was left. I feel like I'm sad for my old life sometimes. Does that mean that I can celebrate my new life? Or are they one and the same? Is everything I am now just a better version of the old me? I can't decide._

_I know there are things I am better for now. I know I want to be stronger, braver, more confident for you. I want to be so many things for you Santana. But then I think of what happened with that Coleman man or Bryan Ryan(that man in the Dog and Duck) and I hate what my life has come to. The man I am that deals out violent threats and even hurts other people. I want to protect you. I want you to feel safe. I'm just sad that there is so much violence in my life. I want to take you away from that._

_Again, I wish I could just see you and hold you. I know you would know the right thing to say or do that would make me feel better or at least distract me._

_I can't help but think of you so much Santana. Even as my head is full of these questions, you are still the first thing I think of when I wake up and especially before I go to sleep._

_Some day soon we'll be returning to Clothier and I'll get to hold you again._

_Things have been dangerous, I'll admit. The attack on Karofsky's platoon proves that but I'll take care of myself Santana. I promise._

_I love you_

_B._

— s — — b —

Santana is a drunk mess when Quinn finds her. She's curled up on top of the blankets on _Quinn's_ bed clutching a stack of envelopes to her chest and a daguerrotype case opened on the pillow beside her.

"Get up Santana," Quinn's voice is demanding but not unsympathetic. She's watched Santana getting thinner. She's heard her crying herself to sleep every other night and it's heartbreaking. She can't watch it anymore though. She has her own cross to bear she doesn't need Santana's as well.

"No, I'm too drunk," Santana grumbles. She's not crying yet but it's only a matter of time. Quinn's sure that she can only be holding her emotions in check through pure belligerence.

Quinn leans over to pick up the photographs and she catches a glimpse of fair hair and feline eyes before Santana is snatching the daguerreotype back from her and pressing it to her chest.

"You can't keep wallowing like this." Quinn says with a frustrated sigh.

"Why not? You do. You won't even try to talk to her even when she's right there." She mercifully doesn't say Rachel's name out loud.

Quinn still feels that acute pain in her chest even at the oblique reference to Rachel. She's seen her a few times since their…discussion in Rachel's tent but nothing good ever comes out of their interactions. Rachel is as perfect as ever and Quinn feels just as inadequate as always.

Santana sits up, "Why don't you go see her. I'm kept from Britt but you could be there with her right now."

"Her and her husband," Quinn amends bitterly.

"You're a coward!" Santana spits out, not for the first time.

"Says the girl hiding in my bed with a stack of unopened letters and a bottle of scotch." Quinn replies automatically.

Santana looks up at her confused. "Unopened?"

Quinn realises that of course Santana has opened the letters straight away, but then why is she in here alone and close to tears? Quinn had read the letter that Brittany left with Santana the morning she left. How could further letters like that do anything other than make Santana happy. Unless…

"What happened? Is she…" Quinn can't quite voice the possibility.

Santana shakes her head, "No, she's okay. I just, I—" she bursts into tears. "I'm so scared Quinn. What if she doesn't come back? There's been people hurt. She tried to downplay the danger but… What if I lose her?"

Quinn feels a further pang in her chest at the desperate fear in Santana's voice, in her posture. It's awful to watch and only drags her further into her own pain. It's not fair on either of them. Why should they be burdened with love that can't be followed or fulfilled. If Brittany dies Santana will be destroyed. When Rachel leaves Clothier with her husband…

Quinn sits down on the bed next to Santana who is still mumbling incoherently about the worst case scenarios she can imagine for Brittany's demise. Quinn pulls Santana into her arms and Santana curls automatically around her chest with her head tucked under Quinn's chin. Quinn pushes her fingers through Santana's hair in the way she knows Santana finds comforting.

Quinn knows what she can say to pull Santana out of her stupor but she also knows that it could be very foolish. She knows that she'll be doing more damage to Santana's delicate emotional state if Brittany doesn't come back.

Quinn sighs as she comes to the conclusion that she'll just have to deal with that possibility if it comes. "She said she'd marry you San."

Santana looks up at her like she doesn't know whether to believe her.

Quinn pushes on. "She told me herself—and I saw that letter she left you; I know it's still true which means she will come back. She'll come back for you because she wants you to be together."

Somehow Santana just cries even harder, collapsing into Quinn's chest.

"That was meant to make you feel better," Quinn sighs out.

Santana takes a deep, shaking breath as if preparing to speak but she only bellows out another sob. Finally coherent words start to form. "She said she loves me and she wants to—wants to marry me?"

Quinn isn't entirely sure if it _is_ a question but she nods anyway. "She said it to Shelby and then she said it to me. If she could she'd take you to a chapel tomorrow. Whatever that means."

Santana leans back to glare at Quinn. "It means she wants to spend the rest of her life with—with—meee-ee-ee." She whines out the last vowel as her body keeps shaking out ragged sobs.

She looks ridiculous and Quinn is running out of patience for drunk, hysterical Santana.

"You could have Rachel too you know." Santana says in a slightly calmer voice.

Quinn's breath catches. She swallows once before shaking her head. "No I can't. I want it. I want—" her voice quivers with her own tears. "I want love but it's been made perfectly clear that Rachel and I are from different worlds."

"But what if—"

"Just leave it," Quinn snaps.

Santana still doesn't look convinced but then Santana is the drunk one and Quinn doesn't believe in miracles. No matter how she longs for one.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1875

I glare at the older woman who looks at me with that edge of pity in her gaze. I don't want her pity or anyone else's. It doesn't help me. I'm still stuck here. In this house that a devil in silk petticoats must have built. Every surface is either plush or gilded. Every girl is made up and dressed down to lure in the hapless fools with fresh money to spend.

Tenaka has disappeared up the stairs with some girl that I can't help but feel sorry for. Though at the same time I'm overwhelmingly glad that it isn't me.

The woman introduces herself as Shelby then hands me a glass with scotch in the bottom of it. I take a sip and am immediately reminded of Tommy and of home. I'm sick of being dragged from town to town and I'm sick of seeing places like this. Even if this is one of the nicest I've been in. Everything looks clean and has a happy, friendly air. Even all the girls seem to be smiling.

I relax into my assigned seat, figuring I'll be here for a while. Tenaka picked up a little work in the last town and I have no doubt that he's been itching to spend what little he's earned. It's a marvel we haven't starved yet. I've worked some of course but any time I think I've finally earned a little trust with my employer Tenaka goes and aggravates the wrong people. Every time I think maybe we've settled, we're moving again. It isn't fair.

After maybe an hour, I see a blonde girl in a travel coat walk in. Her carry case is bigger than mine and everything about her says well-to-do.

She unbuttons her coat as she moves toward the bar but is intercepted by Shelby before she can get all the way there.

"Hello again Quinn. Curiosity got the better of you after all?" Shelby asks.

The girl whose name—strangely enough—must be Quinn shakes her head. "Not exactly, she says with surprising confidence. "You're going to give me a job."

I feel a measure of shock which is reflected in Shelby's expression as her eyebrows shoot up.

She looks speculatively at the girl. "Is that right?"

"Yes it is." She sounds sure and confident in a way that I can't help but envy.

Shelby's eyes flicker over the girl before returning to her face. "Okay then. Sit over there. Don't talk to anyone, just watch and see if you still want a job in a few hours. I'll have Tina bring you something to drink."

Quinn looks to where she gestures and sees me. She looks just as surprised as I am to see another girl my age in this place. I know she couldn't be much older than me. No matter how fine her clothes or how high she pins her hair.

She doesn't really look at me when she sits down, tucking her skirts carefully beneath her. I keep my eyes forward, only examining the side of her face in the periphery of my vision. I know she's doing exactly the same thing and it actually makes me smile a little.

A smirk grows on her face until she finally turns to me with one perfect eyebrow raised in question. "What's so funny?"

I let my smile twitch into a confused frown, "Oh nothing at all."

She frowns as well at my non-answer.

My smirk returns, "Except your face." It's a juvenal response but I can't help it.

Quinn's mouth drops open in shock and she slaps the back of her hand hard against my arm.

"Ow, bitch. What did you do that for?" I demand, my vocabulary disintegrating under the unusual circumstances.

"No reason," she shrugs.

I know I'm wearing my confusion clear on my face and it almost feels strange after months of maintaining a neutral expression. This girl is just so strange.

Quinn slips into a smirk that could rival my own. "It was just your face drove me to act." She giggles through the last few words.

I can't help but laugh as well even as I return the slap on the side of her arm in retaliation.

Quinn looks like she's about to hit back even harder but then another girl clears her throat. We both look up to see an Oriental girl, maybe seventeen years old holding out a glass of what must also be scotch.

Quinn blinks at the girl for a moment before taking the glass with thanks. The girl—who must be the Tina that Shelby mentioned—doesn't say anything. She just nods once before disappearing again.

Quinn looks speculatively into her glass then lifts it to just under her nose to sniff at the edge. Her nose crinkles in a grimace and I roll my eyes.

"It's just scotch Quinn. Haven't you had it before?"

"Of course I—Okay, no I haven't. It's not appropriate for ladies to imbibe hard spirits."

I can't help but laugh out loud again. I look pointedly around the room. "I'm quite sure that what is or isn't appropriate for ladies has little importance here."

Quinn almost sighs. "I guess you're right." She lifts the glass with a determined expression and takes a gulp of what I know to be burning liquor.

I'm immediately impressed by her ability to hide what must be a pained grimace behind an icy mask of indifference. I wonder if that's something that I could learn.

"I'm Santana by the way. Santana Lopez."

"Quinn Fabray," she offers with half a smile; only her eyes reveal any discomfort from the after burn of the unfamiliar alcohol. "It's most definitely not a pleasure to meet you Santana."

I huff a laugh, "Likewise, Fabray. I'm sure."

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

The accounts are done with the ache of a hangover in my head. Even hours into the day the scribble of my pen against the page is enough to make my brain feel like it could melt out my ears at any moment.

Much louder than my pen, of course is Sugar. "You know I heard that one of those platoons was sacked by an entire hoard of Indians."

I do have to wonder how she could possibly know that but I loathe to encourage her. Sugar won't stop talking and I suddenly really hate the soft spot that Quinn and I both seem to hold for the obnoxious girl. I can't bare to unleash the same mean streak on her that I do with the other girls. Now she just won't stop talking about soldiers and rumours and platoons.

She even follows me as I put the books away. At the bar I turn to put my hand in the middle of her chest.

"Tiny nuisance, so help me I will cut you if you say another word or follow me another step."

"But we were going to clean the second floor windows again."

I sigh at the reminder of the chore that I really don't want to do. "Fine, meet me outside. I have to change."

Sugar just falls into step with me, following all the way to the door of our shared room.

I give her a look but she just shrugs.

"I have to change as well," she explains.

I shake my head as I open the door.

…

It takes several seconds to properly understand what I'm looking at.

No one is in the room except for Quinn who is sprawled across my bed with her arm and legs at an awkward angle.

"Quinn?" I ask, almost too scared to speak loud enough.

"What is it?" Sugar asks.

I rush to Quinn's side. "Quinn?" I call louder but get no response. "No, no, no Quinn can you hear me?" I pull her hand toward me and squeeze it hard.

I get absolutely nothing from her. I check for a breath under her nose. She's still breathing so I pull my hand back and slap her hard across the face. She groans and turns away but doesn't open her eyes.

I look behind me to see Sugar still standing in the doorway wringing her hands and looking terrified.

"Sugar!" I yell to make sure I have her attention. "Go find Kurt and get to Beiste's. Get him back here now."

"Is she alright?" Sugar suddenly looks and sounds so young. Her eyes are wide.

"She will be." I say, determined for it to be true. "Just bring the doc back here."

Sugar runs out and down the hall calling for Kurt.

I return my attention back to Quinn who's eyes are still closed. I push the hair back from her face. There's a sheen of sweat on her cold skin that makes me worry. The needle and empty opium vial are still sitting on the side table between our beds and I wonder where she got the needle since she usually just consumes the tincture.

Quinn finally opens her eyes again as I push back her hair over and again.

"What were you thinking Q?" I ask, not expecting any kind of lucid response.

She looks at me sharply, "This is your fault you know." Her words are slurred but clear enough.

"How do you figure that?" I ask with a forced calm. I feel my heartbeat grow erratic as I wonder what I could have said last night to provoke Quinn to this.

"You made me fall in love with you even though you know we can't be together." Her words are slurred but sure and full of anger.

My mouth actually falls open. "You're confused Quinn, you're not making any sense."

"That's you're fault too." she bites out in her slurred way. Then something in her expression shifts and she looks miserable again. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"No you shouldn't have," I say returning to stroking her hair.

"You just make me crazy sometimes."

I can only laugh at this. We make each other crazy in equal measure, always have. "Sure do Quinn."

"Please don't laugh at me," she pleads, tears in her eyes. She sits up so she's eye level with me.

"You're so beautiful," she says, the tears beginning to slip down her cheeks.

What is she talking about now? "Quinn, please for my sake don't say things like that." I try to inject a laugh into my voice even though there is nothing funny about this situation.

"I'm sorry Rachel, so so sorry. I shouldn't have pushed you away." Quinn is babbling quickly and as her hand pushes into my hair things begin to make sense. "Please, I love you and I don't care about anything else. Please just—"

I try to calm her down, "Q, calm down. I'm not Rach—"

Then Quinn is kissing me. Her lips are firm but soft against mine and she immediately parts her lips, tongue seeking access to my mouth. I can taste her tears before I can gather my wits enough to push her back.

A gasp from the doorway draws my attention to the Doctor's arrival. In front of him is Rachel, one hundred degrees of hurt written across her expressive features as she looks between Quinn and I where we sit on my bed. I look at Quinn who is staring at Rachel with a shocked expression.

When I turn back Rachel is already trying to push her way past Beiste who just looks utterly bemused.

I glare at Quinn who's eyes have fallen closed again and I run out the door after Rachel. Quinn is going to owe me big for this.

Rachel hasn't gotten far but she is clearly making a break for it so I have to grab at her and shove her against the wall(maybe I didn't _have_ to). This is all her fault. She mightn't have caused this deliberately but she drove Quinn to this.

"Let me go Santana. Quinn obviously doesn't need or want me here." Rachel wears a pitiable, pained expression.

"No, you don't get to feel that," I yell at her. "You don't get to run away because she needs you. Right now, what's going on in there is because of you. I don't care what Quinn has done or said to keep you away from her and I don't care why she keeps herself from you either. What I do know is that she needs you now and I expect you to be there for her."

"That isn't fair Santana. She obviously feels more for you. What I saw—" her voice cuts off in a choked half sob. "She wants you more than she ever did me."

"No, she doesn't. She wants you. More than anything else. She loves you."

"No I—" Rachel stops, looking utterly shocked. She glances back toward the door to the room. "L—love? I don't… understand. If that's true, then why has she worked so hard to push me away. Over and again I've tried to solicit a return to our previous friendship, our previous relationship and every time she's refused me. For weeks, almost months she's refused me. Are you really saying that for all this time she's been—"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Oh."

I roll my eyes as she _finally_ seems to get it. "And right now, whether you love her or not you need to be there for her. You need to go in there and hold onto her because right now, I'm not good enough. She needs you."

— s — — b —

The letter with the numeral 8 in the top left corner arrives as I wait for Beiste to be done with Quinn. I'm pacing in the saloon next to Shelby who looks as pale and terrified as I feel. A boy knocks on the door and says my name twice before I respond.

He must feel something of the tension in the room because he leaves the moment after the letter is in my hands.

I finally begin to cry when I tear open the envelope and retrieve the page containing Brittany's familiar, messy scrawl.

_My Dearest Santana_

_Did you see the moon rise in the afternoon today? It reminded me of you as it always does. This was a special occasion though because the sun got to kiss her love for the first time in a long while. I'm sure they must miss each other as much as I miss you, though sometimes I think that no one could possibly miss someone as much as I miss you._

_I'd like to say more but I don't have much time because the post boy is here and waiting for me. I had to bribe him already and I don't think he's going to think my trinket worth as much when the sun starts to go down._

_Just like I know that the moon will always chase the sun into the horizon I know that I will come back to you._

_I love you with all my heart._

_B._

I scrub the tears from my cheeks before they can fall. I've had little practice at praying since my Mama died so many years ago. Today, I wish I knew what to say.

— s — — b —

Brittany dreamed of Santana again. They were in their clearing, naked and loving each other. At least, in the sense of being in love. Brittany had pulled back, even in the dream knowing that it would only hurt more when she woke up without the woman she loves beside her. She settled for telling dream Santana what she wishes she'd said in person.

Brittany's shoulders ache where they rest against the hard ground but she sits up quickly when she realises that she's fallen asleep in front of the fire again. The fire that is only really for light against the descending dark since it's hot as hell out here. The heat had Brittany unbuttoning her shirt and dozing off in the dust some time ago.

She looks around the makeshift camp but Sam is still nowhere to be seen. He should have been back by now and Brittany's really beginning to worry. Sitting up scatters a collection of stones from her stomach and she looks down at them in question. She's no idea how they got there but they've left dusty trails across her white undershirt.

Laughter draws her attention and she glares over at Rick Nelson who must have been flicking stones at her while she slept. Brittany has no idea how she got saddled with him as a partner instead of Sam but it happened. She and Nelson were sent in one direction while Sam and a Private Owens were sent in another. They were told to meet back together here before rejoining the rest of their platoon.

Nelson flicks another stone in her direction and she feels a hint of real anger boiling up in her. He's been nothing but mean and sometimes downright cruel to her for days. She even has bumps and scrapes from when he deliberately let her fall into a gully surround by scrub. Her worry for Sam is only making her temper that much shorter.

"What is your problem?" she asks. "What did I ever do to you?"

Nelson just shrugs.

Brittany shakes her head, utterly frustrated. There's no getting through to him. He's proven over and again that he's just as thick headed as he is mean.

She turns her back on him and retrieves the letter she's writing to Santana from her pocket as well as the small nub of a pencil that is her only writing tool. She shifts further so the light from the fire catches the page since the the sky has gone all but black.

With only a few words down her attention is caught by a rustle of noise out in the dark.

"Did you hear that?" she asks Nelson in a hushed voice.

Nelson just huffs and leans back further into the rock he's taken to resting against. "No. 'Cause there wasn't anything."

Brittany strains to hear it again. Nothing but the normal sounds of the dark reach her so she goes back to her letter.

"Who are you writing to?" Nelson asks, breaking into her concentration again.

"That's none of you business."

"Is it the whore?" He grunts.

"What did you just say?" She heard him just fine but if she's going to kill a man then she's got to be sure(she probably won't kill him but there's got to be some invisible pain she can inflict).

"I saw you, you know," he says with a self satisfied smirk.

Brittany's heart stops even though she can't be sure of what he's talking about. "You saw me what?"

"In that laundry district full of chinks and niggers. You were there with that whore of yours."

Brittany is furious. "You shut your goddamned mouth Nelson or I swear—"

"You'll what, poke at me? Like you could do anything with those scrawny arms a yours."

Brittany can't believe him. Even he can't miss how strong she's becoming.

"'Sides." Nelson adds. "Not gonna change what I saw is it."

Brittany tries to think what he could have seen. Even if he followed her and Santana into Hunna district he couldn't have seen anything important. She had been shielded from the street the entire time she was getting the tattoo done, she's sure. Her hand drifts automatically to where the sun is over her ribs as it usually does when she thinks of Santana.

Nelson's eyes follow the movement and he smirks. "You went under the chinamen's knife."

"Needle," Brittany corrects automatically. She has nothing to be ashamed of.

"Let's see it then," Nelson demands, sitting up from his place against the rock.

"No," Brittany says, knowing that he's just bored. He'll leave her alone and go back to reading the inside of his eyelids shortly.

"Don't get shy with me now," he says in a mocking tone. He points to her ribs. "I doubt you were so shy with your whore."

"Don't call her that," Brittany growls through clenched teeth.

"Then show me what you got done."

"No."

"Fine," he says with a shrug and before Brittany can react he throws himself across the gap between them.

Brittany shouts out in panic as she's tipped backwards, Nelson's whole weight slams into her chest and stomach knocking the wind out of her. He sits down on her thighs and tugs the ends of her open shirt up quick enough to tangle then pin her arms in the fabric. She struggles to throw him off but he's too strong. She feels tears prick her eyes. For all her hard work he can still overpower her.

The true danger hits her fully as he tugs at her undershirt to reveal her hips then stomach and ribs.

"A-huh! There, now was that so hard Pierce?" Nelson laughs as he spots the yellow sun in Brittany's skin.

His eyes then drift over the rest of her exposed flesh. Brittany knows why his eyes go wide. She knows the clear, white skin that he's revealed. She knows the shape of her slim waist and hips give so much more away then Nelson could ever have expected.

Brittany is completely exposed.

"You're a girl?" he asks. Disbelief and shock lace his tone but his expression is shifting too quickly for Brittany to know what he could be thinking. "So what's going on with all of this then?" He gestures to the exposed muscles in her upper arms as she strains against his hold. "What do you have a dick or not?" He stares down at her and Brittany feels the bile rise in her throat.

"Just get off me." She wants to sound commanding, angry and certain, like she had in the bar with Bryan Ryan. It's impossible though. Her throat is already constricted; the panic caused by her exposure make her weak.

"I dunno," Nelson says, shifting his weight until his knees press against Brittany's legs.

Brittany whimpers, "Please don't so this." Tears well up in her eyes as she tries to throw him off. She knows she should be stronger, that all her training should allow her to easily overpower him. But he has his weight pressed into her. He has her limbs pinned and her hands caught. She closes her eyes so she won't need to see his face any longer.

Nelson doesn't see her tears or acknowledge her struggle. He knows her secret and he means to take full advantage.

Until it starts to rain.

Brittany startles as warm water sprays down from an unknown source. The weight above her shifts and she opens her eyes.

The shining point of an arrow head peaks out through the blue fabric of Nelson's shirt, just to the right of the column of buttons and directly above his heart. The heart that could not possibly be beating with the slender piece of wood inside it.

A further spray of blood escapes Nelson's mouth in a choked exhale. Brittany twists again to escape his grasp and this time succeeds in throwing him off. By the time he hits the ground beside her, his prone form is completely unmoving and Brittany is sure he's dead.

— s — — b —

San Francisco California, 1878.

Brittany hesitates inside her room for at least ten minutes before she can put approach the door. It's another ten minutes after that when she can actually turn the handle and step out into the hallway. She'll know by the time she gets to the lobby if this is going to work. She'll know if anyone will believe her to be the man she's dressed as.

Brent's clothes fit her well and the slacks are just as comfortable as she imagined although she had a time figuring the suspenders. She spent an age working out how the four in hand tie worked and settled under the wingtip collar. She also needs to find some better material to flatten her chest but that's not too obvious under the tightly fitted waistcoat.

She saunters down the hallway in her best imitation of the men she's been watching in the street. She thinks of it as a dance with certain movements and postures memorised. She keeps her hips straight and her shoulders back.

She tips her derby hat at the first person she walks past. The maid who's name Brittany knows is Mary doesn't even look at her. Brittany counts this as a success if a girl she's come to know well doesn't even look up at her passing.

She shares the elevator with a man that nods politely but doesn't engage her any further. Brittany has to resist the urge to try out her new voice with him. She isn't sure if his stay at Rhodes Hotel will be a long one and if it is, she doesn't want him to have a poor impression of her, or him, or whoever this new version of herself might be.

Brittany is still working out how to think of this person she's becoming. She is Brent Pierce, her brother's life is now her own but she can only think of herself as a girl. It might be easier to keep up with her costume if she thinks of herself as him though. She will be her brother, although she hopes an improved version of him since he wasn't very nice.

In the lobby she hesitates again, standing in front of the closed elevator doors with some trepidation. April is always in the lobby of her husband's hotel since she loves talking to people and laughing loudly at everyones jokes or just plain laughing. She always has a drink in her hand which some might disapprove of but Brittany knows she's the happy, funny type of drunk.

She hears April's voice before she sees her and Brittany wonders if the woman might actually be sober for a change. Thinking on it she realises that it is only nine in the morning so April probably hasn't started yet.

Stepping out into the lobby proper, Brittany spots the woman herself. She has a cigarette in one hand and is gesturing emphatically with the other as she engages the attention of the cleaning staff and bellhops. Everyone is laughing and Brittany is reminded of how much she really likes April. She's really a hoot and a half.

"But then the old man said to his wife—" April cuts herself off when she spots Brittany. "Well what do we have here? Miss Pierce, if you aren't the spittin image of your brother then I don't know what I've been drinkin."

Brittany feels a shy blush colour her cheeks as she looks away from the attention of April and her staff. Of course April would recognise her straight away. She's usually seeing through a haze of bourbon after all. She's probably used to spotting people by their outline.

"I'm just trying somethin new," Brittany says, her voice half a mark lower than usual.

"Oh ain't it new. And sharp," she adds with a wink. "Well _I_ love it," she turns to her staff for agreement and some nod automatically though some just look confused. "Though, ain't it a bit masculine honey?"

Brittany scoffs a laugh, "Well yeah, that's the idea." She might as well be honest. April spotted her straight away. If she's going to get away with this she'll need April onside. Holly said she should trust April and she will. "I ah, actually need to ask for a little eh… careful—ness if that's okay." Brittany eyes the rest of the staff nervously.

April seems to understand her hesitance, "Oh we know all about discretion don't we lovelies," she looks pointedly at her staff until they're all nodding along.

Brittany breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you, I appreciate it. And if it's not too much trouble I'd like it if you could maybe change the name on the register to something else."

"To something like Brent?" April asks and Brittany knows she understands completely.

But, "No, um something else. Anything else."

"Ophelia Upmore it is," she says with a laugh.

Brittany doesn't really know what's so funny so she just tips her hat and turns to leave. April grabs at her arm forcing her to turn back. April is looking at Brittany's tie and vest speculatively and Brittany looks down to figure out what could be wrong.

April just tightens the knot on the tie against her throat and tugs down on the end of her vest. "You be careful out there Honey okay?"

Brittany tries to give her a bright smile. "Of course."

April smoothes down the sleeves of her tweed frock coat and Brittany hopes she's wearing it right. April steps back from her and Brittany takes that as her leave to go.

Before she can get more than a step toward the door she feels a sharp slap across her backside. She jumps and looks back alarmed at April who just grins at her, hand still raised.

"Go get em tiger."

Not knowing how to respond, Brittany just nods again and pushes through the doors onto Market Street.

— s — — b —

New Mexico 1880

Brittany untangles her hands from her shirt as another arrow sings past her face to ricochet off a rock behind her head. She throws herself over the collection of rocks at her back which make something of a natural wall. It's low meaning she is basically pinned to the ground with no weapon and no means of escape.

She squeezes her eyes shut and pictures midnight hair, chocolate eyes and caramel skin. She remembers kissing Santana and holding her close in her arms. If she's going to die, she knows what her last thoughts will contain. She hears voices close by and her eyes snap open. Away from the fire her eyes have adjusted to the dark and she can see a number of fist sized rocks at her side.

Maybe she can go out fighting yet.

She turns onto her stomach and gathers four of the larger stones. Their edges are rough in her palm but the weight is good. She hears another sound to her left and she knows there must be at least two men close by.

Maybe she could take one of them down.

She acts without thinking. That urge to survive takes over, the need to go home to the one she loves, to live and fight another day. Brittany takes a long steadying breath, paying close attention to what she can understand from the noises of the men approaching her hiding place. They murmur in low voices, conferring with one another in their musical language.

Brittany counts to three in her head(she doesn't know why) then springs from her spot to hurl the rock into the head of the nearest man. He collapses to the ground as her aim strikes true. She ducks back behind her hiding spot as his friend hits the ground next, his bow clattering down beside him. Brittany wonders why they approached her instead of just finding a fresh vantage point to shoot her from, like they did Nelson.

The thought that they had been trying to save her runs through her mind but then she remembers that second arrow flying so close to her face that she felt the breeze of it. They're definitely not friendly. Especially now that Brittany has injured(possibly killed) one of them.

She hears the second man scrambling across the rocks and she concentrates on tracking his movements by sound alone. She understands how the human body works. She spent so many years just listening to her own body as it connected with objects, surfaces and even the air around her. She knows what the second man is doing, even without seeing it.

She weighs a fresh stone in the palm of her hand as she hears the man withdraw a fresh arrow from his quiver. She shifts her weight to her knees as the man lines the arrow up on his bow. She counts to three in her head quicker than the man can have his aim prepared and springs up from behind her wall.

She lets the stone loose and once again her aim is true. His bow never reaches it's full tension and the arrow tumbles uselessly to the ground. Brittany lets out a huff of a laugh in relief as the second man hits the ground.

A whistle than a strange, wet _thunk_ sound alert Brittany to the third man. He holds his bow upright with his arm cocked back as though preparing to release an arrow. Except his hand is empty.

Brittany looks down at her left shoulder and sees the prettiest blue and brown feathers making up the fletching on another slender arrow shaft. It's embedded deep into her shoulder and Brittany wonders how she'd missed it before. Her hand drifts up to stroke the feathers.

"Brent, get down!"

A shout returns Brittany to her senses and the pain that wracks her body as she drops out of sight of the third archer. It's just in time as another arrow is let loose to fly straight through the air that Brittany's head had just left empty.

Sam runs full speed into the third archer with the butt of his rifle aimed at his head. They both fall to the ground with grunts of pain and another clattering of stones. Brittany tries to stand but the shaft of the arrow somehow manages to thwack her in the face. The shift in the arrow causes the end that's embedded in her shoulder to twist. The pain that radiates out is enough to make her see stars.

She can't do anything with half an arrow sticking out of her but she also knows what the splayed edges of the arrowhead will do to her shoulder if she tries to rip it out. The only chance is to snap the feathered end off all together and worry about getting it out if she lives.

Brittany hears another grunt of pain as Sam fights on with the third man. She wraps two hands around the shaft of the arrow, one hand holding close to her shoulder. She counts to three once more since that's been working out for her so far.

"Fucking, fuck!" She curses out in pain as the shaft snaps in the right spot so only a few inches of wood emerge from the growing stain of blood in her shirt.

She lays the broken end carefully on the ground. She has a fleeting thought that if she survives this she'd like to keep the feathers.

More sliding rocks and a sickly sounding crack returns her attention to where Sam was engaged with the Indian. She can't see him anymore. There's just the third man with blood running down his face and staining his patched shirt. He turns to look at her and struggles to regain his footing. He's weak but not defeated. A club swings from his hand and Brittany can see streak of red across the surface.

Brittany finally stands on shaky legs to face him. She has a certainty that they're the only two left in this place. That feeling of isolation fills her with an odd sense of calm as she thinks again of Santana. The longing to see her wells up inside again as the man rushes her with the club raised high above his head.

Brittany leans into a crouch with her feet planted shoulder-width apart. If he's so willing to come to her then she'll just wait right here. He shouts out something she doesn't understand as he tilts the club back enough for Brittany to know which way it will swing.

She feints left as he swings right. His momentum throws him off balance when he misses his target. Brittany takes full advantage, knocking her weight against him so he goes sprawling into the dirt. His club is still secure in his hand but Brittany doesn't give him a chance to use it as she locks her forearm under his chin and her other hand across the back of his head.

With a grunt and a wrenching twist Brittany snaps his neck.

The sound seems to echo around the warm glow of the fire and Brittany scrambles back quickly from the dead man, her heart racing.

Her breath keeps coming in sharp puffs and she can't seem to slow it down. She gulps down breath after breath just looking at the man who's dead eyes seem to shine in the light of the fire.

She crawls further from the body and further from the light. On the edge of darkness she looks up into the stars. She can't see the moon and for the first time she's glad.

She shudders and her stomach turns until her body convulses once and she vomits onto the ground. The smell immediately invades her nostrils and she vomits again. She falls away from the pool of sick to lay on her back, turning her head to spit the foul taste from her mouth.

She looks at the stars and hopes the dead man can find his peace quickly. With no other comfort available to her she cries.

— s — — b —

Sam wakes with a start. His head and body ache severely but his vision is clear and he doesn't seem to be dead so he's counting that as a victory. He raises his hand to feel the sticky blood on his face and in his hair. He finds the gash but it doesn't seem too deep; it even seems to already be closed. He doesn't know any more than that though. Sitting up he looks around for Brent. Anything could have happened while Sam was out.

When Sam gets to his feet and stumbles toward the fire he can see three Indians on the ground. One is definitely dead with his neck twisted at an unfortunate angle. The other two might also be dead with the gashes across their heads but he isn't sure.

A gagging noise draws his attention away from the bodies to the edge of the darkness. Brent is on his hands and knees, sick on the ground.

"Brent?" Sam calls out, not wanting to startle the man into any hasty action. He knows that Brent must be responsible for that man's broken neck.

Brent lurches to his feet at the sound of his name and spins around, in a defensive crouch. His posture straightens out almost straight away and he rushes forward to pull Sam into a tight hug.

"I thought you died Sammy," he cries into Sam's shirt.

Sam wonders when he grew taller than Brent or how he never noticed the difference between them before. He dismisses the thought, wrapping his arms around Brent's shoulders to squeeze him tight. A sharp yelp of pain has him letting go moments after.

Brent takes several steps back before falling to the ground clutching at his shoulder where, with the firelight Sam can see the broken piece of an arrow sticking out.

— s — — b —

Brittany has never felt anything so painful before. She can't believe she hugged Sam. It was so stupid but she was just so relieved that he wasn't dead as she thought he was. Now every part of her body seems to be demanding the removal of the arrow from her shoulder right now.

The only trouble with that is she'll need Sam's help to get it out. And she'll have to take her shirt off.

Sam rushes over to her, "Damn Brent, what are you doing?"

"Having a barrel of a time Sam," Brittany grumbles as she sits up with her legs crossed under her. "What do you think I'm doing? I have to get this damn thing out" She looks down at the shaft which is soaked in blood.

Brittany's worried, no scared. She doesn't know how Sam is going to react to this. Especially with what he knows about her and Santana. Her worry makes her snappish.

"Okay," Sam says in what he obviously thinks is a soothing voice. "So we need to get it out without leaving the arrow head embedded in there."

"I know that you blockhead! That's why I snapped it off."

Sam looks at her for a moment before a smirk pulls at his lips. "Blockhead? Are we five?"

Brittany sighs, "I'm sorry Sam. It's just, I'm scared." Brittany's voice is still low, like Brent's. She knows she has to tell him though.

"It's okay," Sam says. "Let's just get you fixed and then we can work on your insults."

Brittany shakes her head. "Look, there's more than just the arrow. I have to tell you something because I haven't been honest with you."

"We can deal with honesty later, just let me get your shirt out of the way and—"

"But that's what I have to tell you about."

Sam finally stops leaning over her with that trying-to-be-helpful look in his eye. "Tell me what Brent? Cause if I'm honest you're starting to make me worry."

"My name isn't Brent." Brittany has never been very good at words. She needs to just show him.

"Okay, so you lied about your name. What does that have to do with—"

Sam's eyes go straight to her shoulder when Brittany pulls her shirt over her head. She pulls the shirt away from the arrow carefully but it still snags, making her wince.

She lets her voice return to her normal pitch. "My name is Brittany."

"Huh?" Sam just looks confused but then his gaze drifts from the arrow, across the bandages on her chest and down to her exposed abdomen. The confusion remains for several moments longer as he looks up into Brittany's eyes again. "I still don't understand," he says honestly.

"I'm Brittany, I'm a girl and I really need your help because this arrow really fucking hurts," she says everything in the same way she usually would when talking to Sam.

It seems to help as Sam just nods and returns his attention to Brittany's shoulder. "Okay, then… I guess we just push it through?"

Brittany lets out a sigh of relief as she nods rapidly. "Yeah, I think so."

Sam moves around her so he can look at the back of her shoulder. "Okay, I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I can see the very tip actually coming out a little on the other side."

"Great," Brittany huffs in a laugh, wondering how her life brought her to this moment. "And the bad news?"

"This is going to hurt a lot."

— s — — b —

I haven't been back in the room with Quinn since Beiste left and I don't want to. I can't see Quinn like that. Especially not with Rachel there. Shelby says that Quinn is slowly coming-to again. The opium is leaving her system and the withdrawals are going to start soon. I can't bring myself to watch that at all. I feel like it would be like watching her dying. I'm not brave enough for that. But Rachel is there. Rachel is the one Quinn wants anyway.

I sit at the bar with Brittany's letter. It's short enough that I already have it memorised and now I'm just folding it and unfolding it until the creases are soft and worn.

It's been a mercifully slow day so there aren't any customers in the saloon and most of the girls have found somewhere else to be. Shelby, Kurt and Tina are taking inventory of the bottles behind the bar and generally ignoring me. I'm fine with that.

With no dates on any of my letters I can't know how long it's been since she penned the last one. I'd like to be upset for the oversight but I know she must not have really thought about it. And god help me if I don't find it endearing. All I can feel with these date-less letters is worry. I don't know how long ago any of these letters were written or sent which means I don't where Brittany is. I never know and it makes me heart sick with worry.

I've thought over what Quinn told me endlessly. Does Brittany really want to marry me? Do I want to marry her? My immediate answer is of course and I don't care to think any further than that. Who knows what Brittany might really have been thinking when she said that, though. Her words aren't always immediately transparent in their true meaning after all.

The dull clinking of bottles continue as kurt calls out numbers and for better of worse Tina writes them down. I open my letter again rather than engage with anyone else, even when I hear the front door open and close again.

The clinking stops along with the Kurt's gossiping chatter.

"Santana?" Kurt calls for my attention and I look up at him.

Shelby and Tina are right beside him but not a one of them is looking at me. They are all looking toward the door.

"What is—" I follow their gazes.

"Hello Santana," Brittany says my name with _that_ smile and I feel an incredulous laugh erupt from deep in my chest.

I practically leap out of my seat at the bar and Brittany's confident smile turns into full blown grin as she opens her arms for me. I throw myself against her and she wraps me up, my feet leaving the ground as she pulls me tightly to her. I wrap my arms securely around her neck and my legs wrap around her waist. She lets our lips brush in a brief kiss but it isn't enough for me. I know the others behind the bar will be watching but I don't care as I pull her back in to kiss me properly. She grins against my lips and I can't feel anything else but blissfully happy because Brittany _finally_ came home.

"I missed you," she whispers, her lips not quite leaving mine so I can feel the smile still resting in them.

I lean back enough to see her eyes, just as blue and clear as I remember. I let my feet fall back to the floor but keep my tight hold around her neck. "I missed you too, Sweets" I say, unable to keep the tears from pricking my eyes.

Brittany just keeps grinning down at me with that blissful smile as all her beautiful, honest words keep running through my head.

"I love you," I blurt out before I can order my thoughts properly.

I feel my face heat but Brittany's smile just softens into that adoring expression that causes my heart to melt.

"I'm in love with you," I amend, thinking as always of her letters.

Brittany's eyes flutter closed as she leans her head down to rest it against mine. "And I love you Santana."


	21. Thank You Mister Pocket Watch

AN: Merry 25th of December my lovelies. That is the date where I currently reside so I'm going with it. I hope you all are safe and happy and secure wherever you are. Best wishes with many happy vibes. Here is my holiday gift for you.

* * *

— s — — b —

New Mexico Territory, 1880

"Sweet mother mary of— Fuck that hurts!" The slew of curses that come pouring out of Brittany's mouth shouldn't be surprising but they kind of are.

Sam actually laughs as he presents Brittany with the newly removed arrow. "Nice language Pierce."

"Yeah well if you had a sharp piece of rock pushed through your shoulder you'd have something to say about it too."

Sam rolls his eyes, "I think it's bone,"he says as Brittany takes the shard.

"I guess you're right." She rubs her thumb over the rough edge.

Sam's expression becomes serious. He looks at her speculatively. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Brittany sighs and then winces as Sam presses her balled up shirt to the back of her shoulder and his own shirt to the front. "Do we have to talk about this now?" she whines.

"Yes."

Brittany has to resist the urge to sigh again. "I didn't want to make you keep my secrets Sam. I'm not your responsibility." Brittany hesitates before adding. "And there's…"

"Santana," Sam finishes for her.

"Yeah. Santana." Brittany can't help the small smile that inevitably lightens expression along with her heart.

But Sam is still frowning. "I don't know what to think about that."

Brittany nods. "Yeah? I guess I understand. Sometimes I don't know what to think about it either. I know what I feel though."

"What's that?"

Brittany keeps it simple as she shrugs, "Love." Surely Sam can understand love.

Sam nods, very seriously and he seems to steel himself for a moment. Brittany holds her breath until he looks up again. "Okay then."

"Okay then," Brittany repeats.

Sam nods. "Yeah, I guess I don't really understand but I do know that you love, er her. The way she looks at you, I thought it was only a matter of time…" He clears his throat awkwardly. "I mean, I'd still kinda, maybe hoped you'd—or at least Brent would—want to marry Stacie. My sister," he explains.

Brittany looks at him curiously. He doesn't talk about his family very often. She guesses it must hurt too much being away from them for so long.

Sam shuffles awkwardly around in his pocket with one hand as he keeps the pressure on Brittany's shoulder with the other. He pulls out a small flat box. It looks a little like the daguerrotype case that Brittany left with Santana only plainer and made of tin.

Sam snaps it open, "That's my Mom, Dad, Stevie and Stacie."

Brittany looks down at the grey photograph in Sam's hand and can make out the smiling faces of a small family. Beside a man who looks like an older version of Sam is a blonde girl about twelve years old. The funny thing is that the girl could probably be Brittany's own sister.

Brittany doesn't say as much, instead she points out, "She's a bit young for marriage don't you think."

Sam gives her a confused look. "This photo's old, Brent." He looks more confused for a moment. "I mean Brittany, I guess?"

Brittany just shakes her head with a smile. "I was joking. I'm pretty sure an age difference is the least of our worries at this point. And you can still call me Brent if you'd rather it."

"I dunno. I mean, I can get used to it. It's just weird you know?"

Brittany laughs, then immediately regrets it as pain shoots through her at the movement. "I don't think there is a part of my life that isn't at least a little strange Sammie."

Sam smiles his first genuine smile since they got the arrow out. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"So…" Brittany begins, hesitant. "Are you—Are we, gonna be okay?"

Sam looks like he's thinking really hard and Brittany knows that he just needs some time to think over things. Honestly, he has trouble figuring out if he wants biscuits or not with breakfast most mornings so this could take a while. Brittany is patient though.

Finally Sam lets a small smile pull at his wide lips. "Yeah, Stacie was always too good for Brent anyways."

Brittany rolls her eyes but is really glad that Sam is already able to joke about this.

She's actually feeling a little dizzy. She says as much to Sam. "I'm not feeling too good." She looks down at the shirt that she's holding to her shoulder and can see blood soaking the whole way through it.

Sam looks almost as sick as Brittany feels when he nods. "I think we're gonna have to catterise it."

"Do you mean cauterise?" Brittany offers.

Then her brain catches up with her mouth as she realises what that means. Her stomach lurches at even the idea of adding more pain.

Sam nods. "It's the only way we're getting out of here."

Brittany tries not to look as terrified or disgusted as she is. "Okay, let's do it."

Mercifully, she passes out before she can agree to anything else.

When she wakes up, the bandages from her chest are criss-crossed over her shoulder and she's wearing a shirt that isn't covered in blood. Her body is radiating pain and the sight of her own bayonet leaning on the rocks by the fire makes her feel sick. It also takes Sam another hour to be able to stop blushing when she looks at him. At least she isn't bleeding anymore.

— s — — b —

Clothier New Mexico, 1880

Brittany is in love with the greatest person in the world, It's the only explanation.

She wasn't sure what would happen when she came back. She didn't know if Santana would forgive her leaving so abruptly in the early hours of the morning without a goodbye. She doesn't know if any of her letters made it back here. All she knows is that Santana has a right to be upset with her.

She's straightened out her uniform and untied the sling from her arm, regardless of the pain in her shoulder. She wants to look her uniform best in her blue coat.

Despite Sam's urging to go see Dr Beiste without delay Corcorans is her first stop. She walks into Corcorans hoping for—but not expecting—the best reaction to her return. She hopes that Santana will greet her cordially. A hug is her greatest hope.

She gets so much more than a hug.

As soon as Santana's feet leave the ground to wrap her legs around her, Brittany feels the pain radiating out from the broken flesh in her shoulder but she ignores it. She ignores the pain of the week old injury in favour of enjoying the feel of Santana wrapped around her. Santana still has that anaesthetic affect over her and it's absolutely wonderful.

Having Santana so close to her makes it impossible to think too clearly about anything else. That's why she foolishly(optimistically) presses a light kiss to Santana's lips. Her heart almost stops in a sudden rush of anxiety. If she's pushed too hard, too far, too fast it's—

Then Santana's lips are back, intense and demanding on her own, kissing her in the way she remembers(and has remembered so many times) from the night before she left. The night that Santana's restraint had faltered and they had pressed together with so much passion(and for Brittany, love).

Having Santana's lips on hers again is beyond wonderful. Being able to feel, hold, smell, taste everything that is Santana again makes Brittany's body ache from the sweetness of it. She missed this. She missed Santana more than she thought was possible.

Santana says she missed her too and Brittany can't stop the blissful smile if she tried. If Brittany had her way she would stay like this, with Santana wrapped around her forever. As it is, Santana is the one to let her feet return to the ground and Brittany can only let her. That hole in her shoulder hasn't gone anywhere after all.

Then Santana says _those_ words. Those wonderful incredible words that Brittany has wanted to hear for so many weeks. Hearing them fall from Santana's lips in the perfect order is even more wonderful than she could have imagined.

Santana's complexion darkens in an adorable blush as though she's been surprised by her own confession. All Brittany can do is smile at the girl she adores and try to contain the giddy excitement that threatens to burst out of her at any moment. She also has to concentrate on not kissing Santana senseless since Santana has that look like she wants to explain something very important.

Finally(finally) she looks Brittany in the eye and in the most adorably serious voice she says, "I'm in love with you."

Brittany's eyes close as she holds her breath and counts to three. Everything feels like so much _more_ than she can quite understand or contain inside of her. She loves Santana so very much and in some miracle of circumstances Santana loves her back.

She lets her head tip forward. She just wants to be just that much closer to Santana. As her brow connects with Santana's skin she whispers the only words that could follow. "And I love you Santana."

Santana tilts her chin up so their lips connect again and Brittany wonders if maybe she died back with those Indians after all. Would death feel quite so overwhelming though? She doesn't think so.

"Ah hem," a voiced grumble draws their attention away from each other as they both look over at the bar.

Brittany takes a step back as she notices for the first time that Santana isn't the only other person in the room. There are in fact _three_ other people, all standing behind the bar and watching them. At least one of those people knows her secret.

Shelby looks between them with a vaguely disapproving expression. Whether Shelby disapproves of the display of affection in general or of Brittany in particular isn't clear. Brittany just takes another respectful step back with her hands releasing Santana and going back to her own sides. She glances at Santana, perfectly willing to take whatever direction Santana would prefer. As it is, Santana just rolls her eyes and takes Brittany's hand so she's holding it in her own.

Brittany knows that her sweet-on-Santana smile is back in full force but she really couldn't stop that smile if she tried. Especially with the way that Santana is holding her hand and smiling at her without any trace of fear in her eyes.

Santana only looks a little bashful as her eyes switch between Brittany and her friends(Brittany hopes they're friends). Brittany gives her hand an encouraging squeeze.

The young man, Kurt is looking between them speculatively. "So, Kitten, why don't you introduce us to your new friend?"

Santana scowls as always at the nickname. "Oh please, you've already met each other Porcelain."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Kurt says with an airy laugh. "I don't think I recognise this bold example of manhood right now."

Brittany doesn't understand what he's getting at, at all.

— s — — b —

If I could kill with a look then Kurt would be dead six times over. He's teasing me but making Brittany feel bad. I don't know what he's playing at but I've had enough.

"We're gonna go. I'm not asking, I'm telling."

"Without an introduction?" Kurt says.

Shelby and Kurt share an amused look as Tina rolls her eyes and goes back to counting bottles.

"Fine," I huff. "Brent Pierce you've met Porcelain and Madame Pompadour. That sociable creature counting bottles is Tina. Don't worry if she never says anything to you. Five years in the House and still no English. What I wouldn't give to hear her thoughts. I'd bet anything she has everyone's secrets." I give Kurt a withering glare. "Now that we're done with the pleasantries?"

Kurt laughs though Shelby looks less than amused.

I feel nervous and I do something that I hate. I beg. I plead with my eyes for Shelby to let me leave with Brittany and without a fuss.

Finally she shakes her head dismissively. "Okay, get gone."

I don't miss the way her eyes glance toward my room where Quinn is being watched over by Rachel. I can't know that Quinn is fine but I can't think about her right now. I've done what I know Quinn would want in keeping Rachel here. Me waiting outside the room with bated breath won't do anything to force the opium from her system.

I turn with Brittany toward the door, not giving Shelby a chance to change her mind. Not that I'd let her stop me but I'd rather not go against her will. With Brittany back I need her on our side. There is no chance I'm only seeing Brittany once a week now. I'm quite sure that would actually kill me.

Outside is the soldier posted at the door for Rachel's protection. He gives us a cursory nod as we walk past.

It's actually more civilised a reception than Brittany normally gets and I have to ask, "Was he a part of your Platoon Sweets?"

I don't want to press her but curiosity is starting to get the better of me. I know Brittany will eventually tell me everything she's been doing these past weeks but still…

Brittany glances back at the soldier then back to me before finding the road again. "No he wasn't," she answers with a shrug. "But everyone knows me now I guess." She doesn't elaborate any more than that and the frown she wears keeps me from asking what she means.

— s — — b —

Brittany lets Santana guide them into their clearing. She's glad to let go of the responsibility for… well everything. She doesn't want to have to think too much at all. They leave the row of trees and step into rapidly condensing light. Brittany feels like she's coming home. Here with Santana she feels safe and at peace for the first time in, she doesn't know how many weeks.

Santana leads them out into the grass, letting go of Brittany's hand long enough to stamp out a section of flattened grass big enough for them to lie down together.

"We forgot a blanket again," Brittany comments airily. She could be anywhere with nothing but Santana and be very content though so it doesn't matter.

Santana doesn't say anything for so long that Brittany has to look up to make sure she's okay. She's staring at Brittany like she said something strange and wonderful at the same time. Brittany raises her eyebrows in question and Santana's face gets darker in what Brittany recognises as a blush. Brittany's own cheeks go red as she considers what Santana must have been thinking about. She tries not to think too hard on what they could do alone on a blanket in their clearing.

Then again, who's to say they need a blanket to do that anyway.

Brittany clears her throat, needing to break this moment between them before she needs to do _something_ about the tension. "At least I have my jacket right."

Yeah right. That helps.

Brittany blushes far more brightly than Santana ever can, distracting them both by pulling off her jacket and laying it on the ground. Her hands go to her shirt buttons but Santana steps forward before she can get past the first one. She kisses Brittany once before moving through the ritual of undressing her. It became familiar in their time before Brittany left. Even when Santana was making the determined effort to keep their activities—their kisses—chaste she would undress Brittany in this way.

She pulls Brittany's belt gently from the loops to untuck the shirts from her waist. Brittany shucks her overshirt from her shoulders and lays it out with her jacket so they can lie together on the ground. The cushioning from the grass is soft even if the blades would be itchy against their skin.

Santana's hands slip under Brittany's undershirt, warm against the skin of her belly. It tickles a little making Brittany smile and twitch back from the touch. Santana frowns at Brittany moving away.

Brittany kisses her. "It tickles," she explains. "But you can keep going."

Santana quickly finds the end of the bandage and starts unwrapping. As she gathers it into a tight coil in her hand she must notice that it's a different one than before.

"You found new bandages?" It's a simple question.

Brittany wishes her answer was so simple. "I had to get a few new ones."

Santana looks alarmed as her eyes rake over Brittany's body, looking for an injury. Her hands follow and she quickly finds the bandage wrapped over her shoulder.

"What happened?" Her eyes are wide with worry.

"How long have I been gone?" Brittany asks. She lost track of the days so quickly.

Santana doesn't need to think about it. "Today would have been thirty two days." She realises a beat later that she had the answer immediately and she looks away with dark cheeks.

Brittany won't let her be embarrassed for that. "Hey now. San," she presses her fingers under Santana's chin so she can look her in the eye. "That was thirty two days when I never stopped thinking about you."

Santana smiles, her eyes shimmering. Brittany kisses her mouth tenderly just because she can. Santana kisses her right back but Brittany knows she needs to tell Santana what happened.

Brittany sighs and leans back, her hand dropping to take a hold of Santana's fingers. "There was an attack," she says simply.

Santana gasps, her free hand coming to her mouth. "Oh my god, did you—I mean, obviously you're here but—when?"

Brittany looks down, tracing over the knuckles of the hand, holding Santana's. The skin is still fresh and pink, healing from where they had been grazed and broken from digging the graves.

Santana's free hand moves to hold over Brittany's. She aims to comfort her because that's what she does. No matter how Brittany thinks she's grown or how far she comes, when she's hurting Santana is there to take care of her. Santana will always takes care of her.

"I've lost so much of myself San." Brittany feels the tears well up in her eyes and there is nothing she can do to stop them from falling as she explains what she's done. She tries to explain how she feels, how the faces of those men haunt her. She wants Santana to understand; she needs Santana to see her and know what she means. Santana has always understood her, she just hopes that after Santana knows what she's done, the lives that she's taken that she will still look at her the same way.

— s — — b —

Brittany killed three men; all of which had bows and skills to use them. She beat them all, one without using any kind of weapon at all. I see the way she looks down at her hands, as though looking for some sign of what they can do, of what she's capable of.

I know that she's scared. She's worried about the person she's becoming; about who she'll be if ever she comes out the other side of these days.

I push her fingers away from her knuckles so I can run my own fingertips across the healing skin as I ask, "Do you know why it was so easy for me to kiss you back at the bar?"

She shakes her head. "I know you were worried before I left. Worried about people finding out and about what they would say—"

I cut her off with a kiss. "I'm not scared anymore."

"Why?"

"I thought you didn't ask why?" I joke.

Brittany gives me a look.

I lift her hands to kiss over her knuckles. "I _was_ scared. But then when I didn't hear from you I—I guess I was more scared of losing you. I didn't know if you would ever—" I have to look away from those brilliant blue eyes before I can go on, fighting my own tears. "People finding out doesn't seem so frightening any more." I force a smile.

— s — — b —

Brittany can feel tears burn her eyes again at Santana's quiet confessions but she concentrates on the smile reaching them instead. She draws their joined hands back toward her so she can press a chaste kiss against Santana's fingers. She's so glad when Santana rolls her eyes at her self and smiles again.

Brittany laughs lightly, wasting no time in leaning forward to kiss her lips again. She feels completely, blissfully overwhelmed, with everything. Santana understands. Santana is still here with her.

"I love you," Brittany says, simply because she can't hold back the words any longer.

Santana smiles so brightly and Brittany can _see_ the love in her eyes. She rushes into another kiss that's anything but chaste, her hands untangling from Santana's so she can hold Santana's jaw and keep her even closer. Their lips move together and Brittany can't help but smile even as she's losing her breath to every touch. Santana's hands are wandering around Brittany's waist and up her sides.

Brittany pushes back and Santana takes the hint to lie down, her back falling neatly to the blue jacket. She tugs at Brittany who doesn't hesitate to follow after her Santana.

"OW, shit. God. Dammit," she can't help the string of expletives that fall out of her mouth as she leans too heavily on the arm that's attached to her bad shoulder.

"Woah, hold up Sweets are you okay?" Santana is laughing a little but biting her lip as though trying to keep it in.

Brittany can't blame her for laughing. This is a little funny if entirely not fair. She's been waiting so long to finally have Santana and now she's in her arms, kissing her in _that_way and there's a hole in her shoulder put there by a damn arrow. It's ridiculous.

Brittany rolls to her side with a pained groan, keeping one hand resting against Santana's stomach. She can at least keep contact even if she can't do much else. Frustration boils up in her. She has a certain understanding of romance and of how she wants to treat Santana. She wants the first time they get to experience each other intimately to be perfect and she just can't have that with her arm as useless as it is. Maybe she's naive but that's how she feels.

Apparently Santana isn't as worried because she takes the opportunity to move herself over Brittany, her hands and lips roving in a way that could quickly shatter Brittany's resolve.

"Santana wait," Brittany says through a half smothered gasp.

"Why?" Santana asks still kissing her neck, her fingertips making circles of Brittany's navel.

Brittany stills Santana's hand and makes a determined effort to gather her thoughts. She want this to be perfect for Santana. As much as she wants to let Santana keep doing whatever she was planning to do with her hand she can't. It just isn't right.

Brittany rolls them back over so she can hold herself up with her good arm over Santana. Her beautiful girl pouts and Brittany can't help but smile in response. She shifts so her body is almost entirely over Santana's, being much more careful of her bad arm this time.

"I want to be with you," she says honestly.

"And I want to be with you," Santana says with sparkling eyes. "So let me—"

"But," Brittany draws out, interrupting her. "Not like this."

Santana actually scowls at her, disapproval of this idea clear in her expression.

Brittany smirks, carefully trailing the fingertips over Santana's cheek and around the shell of her ear. "Besides, wouldn't you rather," she deliberately drops the tone of her voice. "If I could hold myself over you like this. If I could be strong enough, with both arms to watch you as you fall apart under my hands." She leans in to whisper into Santana's ear, "Two strong hands?"

Santana's eyes are closed when Brittany pulls back. Her words have affected them both. They're still breathing a little heavier than normal and Santana is biting down on her lower lip. Brittany rubs her thumb over Santana's mouth, ignoring the twinge of pain in her shoulder caused by the small movement.

Santana's eyes flutter open and she stares up at her darkly, lips parting to pull at Brittany's thumb. Brittany nearly loses her resolve all over again at the feel of Santana's tongue against her skin.

It's all just a little too much and Brittany draws back, letting herself fall to one side of Santana, her hand returning to it's place wrapped over Santana's stomach and side.

"You're not fair San," she grumbles.

Brittany feels the quiver of Santana's stomach as she laughs. "Oh, sure. Blame me."

Santana rolls onto her side and props her head up against one hand. Brittany loves bing here with Santana. She grins up at her girl without caring how she might look in doing so.

Santana chews on her lip again. "Do you still think of our wishing place Britt Britt?"

Brittany loves how Santana says 'our' wishing place. She smiles and nods. "I think it looks a little different now though."

"What do you see?"

Brittany feels even happier because she knows that Santana wants their wishing places to match. They should always match.

She sighs and pulls up the image in her head. "I see you," she says first.

Santana sighs and lets her arm fall so their faces are close together again. Brittany can count the dark eyelashes against Santana's cheek.

"We're in a house that's ours," she continues. "There's a dog by the door—"

"What kind?"

"Any kind. You can choose. And a cat named Lord Tubbington the second."

Santana scrunches up her nose at that.

Brittany chuckles. "A cat needs a regal name San."

Santana just laughs. "Of course. Is there a white picket fence?"

Brittany nods quickly, adding the detail to her own picture. "And the greenest grass in front and back with yellow daisies. The front door is a respectable blue but the backdoor can be all rainbow colours because we're the only ones who see it."

Santana smiles at the detail, her eyes closing as she imagines their home with Brittany. She adds her own details. "We can plant those purple flowers in every garden bed and we can get married on the grass in—" Santana cuts herself off. Her eyes are wide and she looks as shocked at her own words as Brittany feels.

"I er…what?" Brittany doesn't know what to say.

"I'm sorry," Santana says, looking anywhere but at Brittany. "I didn't mean to say that. Just forget about it."

"How can I forget about _that_?" Brittany asks, incredulous. "You just said… did you really just… did you mean it?"

"Did you?" Santana counters.

"Did I what?"

"Mean it. What you said to Shelby." Santana's gaze returns to Brittany's.

Brittany clears her throat, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. Did Quinn tell Santana? She asked her not to but secrets never like being kept too long. She thinks about changing the subject. She thinks about just kissing Santana and hoping she'll forget about it. The truth is so much scarier.

Brittany finds Santana's gaze again as she takes up her hand in her own. "I would have liked to ask you properly but yeah. I meant it."

Santana sits up abruptly and Brittany feels a twinge of panic. Has she ruined their moment together? Was it too soon?

Santana stands. "Okay."

Brittany sits up awkwardly. "Okay, what?"

Santana rolls her eyes as though it's obvious. "Okay, ask me properly."

Brittany doesn't move. She's sure the butterflies have given up on churning her stomach and settled for cannibalising each other and possibly her heart.

"To marry you," Santana adds as if Brittany must not have understood her.

"But I don't have a ring," Brittany says lacking any intelligent thing to say.

Santana frowns a little. "That doesn't matter."

Brittany frowns right back at her. "Yes it does. I need to—wait, I think I have something."

She digs into the inside pocket of her jacket where her father's watch has been kept secure for the last few weeks. She removed the chain before she left but the ring that would normally connect the watch to it is still in place. Santana just watches as Brittany glares at the two pieces of metal, willing them to be apart.

"Sweets really, you don't have to—oh!"

Brittany snaps the part of the watch that keeps the ring in place with a grunt as she forgets for the thousandth time about the hurt in her shoulder. She knows it's completely worth it though when she holds the slender ring of gold in the palm of her hand.

She's sure the gold isn't very fine and probably has more copper than actual gold but it's definitely better than a blade of grass which was her only other option. She lays the watch to one side and gets onto her knees. Santana's eyes go wide as though this isn't what she was expecting. Brittany smiles at the idea that she would do anything less.

"Santana Lopez… wait, what's your middle name?" Brittany asks.

Santana lets out a great huff of a laugh that makes Brittany's heart squeeze with joy. "Maria," she says extra soft as if to make up for the noise of her laugh.

"Santana Maria Lopez," Brittany begins again taking Santana's left hand. "I wish I had more to offer you. I don't know what will happen in the future—even though I would very much like to—but I know what I feel. I love you and would like to spend the rest of my life with you. I have nothing but my heart," she lifts up the ring between them. "And this broken piece of a watch to offer but—" Brittany grins as Santana laughs again. "Do you think, maybe that you would like to marry me?"

Brittany waits for three heartbeats before Santana nods. The makeshift ring fits onto Santana's finger like it's meant to be there and brittany jumps to her feet to wrap the woman she loves up in her arms.

They both laugh and Brittany feels so light she could float into the air. She presses a string of kisses across Santana's face trying to express every ounce of adoration that she feels.

Santana laughs as she takes a hold of Brittany's face to look into her eyes. Brittany melts into warm brown depths, her heart squeezing at the knowledge that she can spend the rest of her life looking into these eyes.

"I love you Sweets."

"I love you too San."

Brittany shifts so she's standing at Santana's back and can take her left hand into her own. Santana twists her hand so the ring shines in the light. It's not perfect but right now it's perfect for them.

— s — — b —

It's not my fault that we end up back on the ground kissing furiously. I swear it's Brittany's fault. She said the ring was perfect and I agreed wholeheartedly then she kissed my neck. I can't be held responsible for the way I reacted. Or more specifically the way my body reacted as I spun in her arms and thread my fingers into her hair. The way my fingers tugged at the braid until it loosened wasn't my fault either.

Her hand is on my thigh, tugging up my skirts as my own hands tug at the hem of her shirt before she realises what's happening.

She pulls back and I feel that edge of disappointment(in myself). I shouldn't have gotten so carried away. I know what Brittany wants for us. Even if I don't wholly share her sentiments regarding her ability to please me I'm meaning to respect her wishes.

She doesn't say anything and she doesn't need to. We both know why she pulled away. So when she lies on her back, looking up at the clouds I just nuzzle into her side, my head taking its place against her good shoulder.

"What are you thinking about?" I ask after a few minutes in silence. Then I think about the invasiveness of what I just asked. "I mean, if you want to tell me."

Brittany lets out a quiet chuckle. "You can always ask." The smile in her voice lets me know that she'll always answer too. "I was thinking… that I need to cut my hair."

I hold in my gasp, just barely because I love her hair but, "I want you to be safe. Though, is it really necessary?"

Brittany picks up a lock of wavy blonde hair from where it's fallen against her shoulder. "I think I've pushed my luck as far as it will go. It's not safe anymore."

I understand her concern. She told me what happened with that private that was killed. He discovered her secret and if he hadn't been killed then… I can't even follow the thought any further. Her hair hadn't given her away though.

"This is my fault," I murmur wretchedly, hiding in her shoulder.

"Hey, no. Don't be silly. The tattoos weren't even your idea. Neither of us could have known what would happen." Her words are so sure that I almost feel a little better.

I love her hair no matter what length but I worry for how Brittany will feel losing another piece of her femininity. I can see by the tenseness visible in her neck that she doesn't like the idea.

"Not all men have short hair," I suggest.

Brittany sighs. "But most do."

"What about Colonel Custer?" I suggest.

"What about him?"

"He has long hair."

"So does Calamity Jane." She shakes her head a little. "I've put so much effort into my body and there's nothing I can do about my face but my hair… it can grow back."

I lean in to kiss her neck. "I guess we could give it a trim," I say lightly. "And I'll love you all the same, hair or no."

We relax into each other. I feel utterly content to just soak in the atmosphere of our surroundings. The comfort of having Brittany so close to me is enough to bring a warmth to my chest that I hadn't really known was missing.

We talk about all the little things that happened while she was away. She tells me more about her training and how Sam knows her secret but is being nice about it. I tell her about Quinn and she holds me closer as I tell her about my fears for her. We both inch closer and Brittany takes my left hand into hers so she can fiddle with the gold band of my ring.

My ring.

I hadn't imagined myself marrying anyone. Not since my mother was alive and would talk about my future. She was so sure of so many things. Everything became unsure after she died and downright unreliable after Papá left me. Now I have certainty. I have a home in Brittany and I will be married to her. Even if there isn't a church that will have us and the band on my finger is the only solid symbol of it. Our love is forever.

I hold her closer as my heart flutters with every stroke of her fingertip past the band on my skin. If the day would only last forever as well then we could stay like this and I would be content. Unfortunately the sun soon dips below the tree line and we both have other places that we have to be.

I help her dress(in my own way) and she walks me back to Corcorans. We hold each other for several minutes longer than we should before she leaves promising to meet me again tomorrow.

I hold that promise in my heart, the golden band on my finger reminding me that she'll always come back.

— s — — b —

Brittany is a little disappointed when she arrives at Corcorans to find Santana still at work over the books.

Santana huffs an irritated sigh. "I'm sorry Sweets, I got caught up in some stuff this morning and I have to get these done before we can do anything else." Santana gestures to the slips of paper spread out in front of her.

Brittany nods, resisting the urge to pout. "Okay, I guess I'll…" She gestures vaguely out the door but Santana holds up a hand.

"Actually, can you do me a favour?"

Brittany nods eagerly with a bright smile. She'd love to do something for Santana. She wants Santana to be able to trust her with things. In fact it hadn't occurred to her before but she wants nothing more than for Santana to ask her to do something incredibly mundane and inconsequential. She'll be a part of every tiny bit of Santana's life if she can.

Santana returns the smile and nods in the direction of the stairs. "Can you check on Quinn for me? Rachel left and I want to make sure everything's okay and I don't have to go kill any midgets."

Okay, well that's a little more consequential than Brittany anticipated. She nods, "Of course."

Santana sighs, relieved. It must have been weighing on her this choice between work, Brittany and Quinn. Brittany feels a warm bubble expand in her chest. She can do this for Santana. She can be a help.

Brittany nods one more time before approaching the stairs. She's halfway to the landing before Santana explains which door to find Quinn in.

"Second on the left Sweets. Don't let Quinn scare you."

Right. Brittany doesn't really know Quinn. They've met a few times but only really in passing. Well, except for that morning when she knocked in Coleman's teeth. That doesn't exactly make her feel any better about walking into a room with a very much indisposed Quinn inside.

She pushes open a door that she hopes is the right one and is relieved to find Quinn on the other side, siting up and reading a book. Brittany's surprised and then immediately suspicious. She looks around for any sign of the opium that Santana said Quinn's withdrawing from. Quinn had decided on her own that she would stop taking the drug but it's possible that she has fallen under the influence again. Brittany isn't sure how strong willed Rachel is; if Quinn could have talked her into acquiring more tincture.

Quinn looks up from her book, obviously surprised to see Brittany. "Hello?" she says, her voice a little rough.

"Hello," Brittany repeats, not sure what else to say.

Brittany steps into the room and closes the door behind her. She's not sure how long 'checking up' should take but this is Santana's friend and Brittany wants to know Santana's friends.

"How are you—" she starts to ask how Quinn is feeling but isn't sure if that mightn't be impolite. She clears her throat awkwardly.

Quinn gives her a slightly strained smile. "How am I feeling?" she finishes Brittany's question with a weak smile. "I've been better." Her voice is weak; her face pale and clammy but her eyes are alert for now.

Brittany nods. She's never been good at not saying things. Quinn knows about her. She knows what she and Santana have but it's still difficult to be open with anyone.

Brittany makes a concerted effort to be very honest. "Santana sent me up." She blurts it out; it's not what she meant to say.

One of Quinn's eyebrows goes up. "To check up on me?"

Brittany shrugs again, her cheeks going red as she feels oddly flustered. A sick woman in bed shouldn't be able to make her feel flustered but this one does.

"She's worried I'll give in," Quinn sighs.

"Will you?"

Quinn looks down. "I don't want to yet but… I know I'm not a—strong person."

"What about Rachel?" Brittany asks. "Would she let you?"

Quinn laughs then. A short incredulous huff of sound. "Ah, no Brent. I don't think I could talk her into anything honestly."

Brittany frowns a little at 'Brent'.

Quinn sees it. "Sorry, ah Brittany. I er… wasn't sure?"

Brittany shakes her head. "No. No, it's fine. Safer," Brittany reminds herself as well. It's safer.

"Right."

Well this is awkward. "What do you and Santana talk about?" Brittany wonders aloud.

Quinn shrugs but then grimaces as the motion must jostle something that hurts. "Lately, we talk about you mostly. Or Rachel," Quinn admits quietly.

Despite living so close to the Major Brittany doesn't really know much about his wife. She supposes Rachel is okay, in a short, annoying, nosy kind of way. She hasn't forgotten how Rachel was so determined to see her and Santana together despite her not knowing either of them.

She doesn't really know how Rachel fits into things with Quinn now either. She knew that Rachel spent a lot of time at the House for her story when they first arrived in Clothier. Santana had told Brittany herself that Quinn and Rachel were friends although they'd had some kind of falling out. If Rachel has been here with Quinn through this then they must be friends again.

Brittany is determined to find some kind of conversation for them. Some common ground besides Santana.

She looks at the book that Quinn had put to the side when she walked in. She can't tell from here what it might be about. "What are you readi—"

"I kissed Santana." Quinn interrupts her in a rush of words and air.

"Oh," Brittany feels like she's just been punched in the chest. She sits down on the bed by Quinn's feet.

"I swear I didn't mean to. I was—out of it and she was there, I thought she was… someone else."

Brittany stands up again and Quinn actually flinches. Brittany _hates_ seeing that jump of fear and Quinn must realise that because she looks even more guilty. "I find that hard to believe Quinn. Santana hardly looks like any of your tricks does she."

Quinn looks a little surprised at her use of the word tricks.

"Honestly Brent, I hadn't meant to. Well, obviously I did mean to—"

"Did she—did Santana—" she can't bring herself to finish the question.

"Did Santana what?"

"Kiss you back?"

"What? No, not at all. She pushed me off straight away and I was so out of it on the opium." Quinn's cheeks go red. "I honestly thought she was someone else."

Brittany doesn't know how she can really believe that. Santana is more uniquely beautiful than anyone else. How could Quinn mistake her for some other person? Brittany feels her hurt building into something else. She could swear it's anger. There's also something else less obvious. Quinn is beautiful and by Santana's own admission, very smart; smarter than Brittany. Brittany suddenly feels very unkept beside her.

That thought only makes her feel angrier. What right does Quinn have to try and claim Santana while she was gone? Brittany was fighting for her life, getting hit in the shoulder by Indian arrows and doing things that haunt her dreams every night. How dare Quinn even look at Santana, let alone touch her…

Brittany's building ire is momentarily hindered by the door opening. The Major's wife appears through the small gap and she closes the door immediately behind her. Brittany glances at Quinn and sees the most peculiar expression on her face. She seems to have softened in an instant. Where before she looked incredibly nervous and guilt ridden, now she seems to be fighting a smile.

Brittany looks back toward Rachel Hudson who is smiling shyly at Quinn. There's a blush to her cheeks that matches Quinn's and suddenly Brittany understands.

"Oh," she repeats. "I er, guess I'll leave you two um, alone."

"Oh, no that's not necessary—"

"You don't have to—"

Both Rachel and Quinn try to say things that would make her stay but Brittany can see both of them pleading with their eyes for her to go. Brittany feels a bubble of laughter rise up in her chest but she fights it back down. The anger from moments ago almost entirely washed away by the absurdity of these two women. They keep side eyeing each other, pretending to be subtle about it and Brittany feels thoroughly ignored.

"Santana is waiting for me," she says quietly even though she could have told them her pet elephant was waiting and she would have gotten the same non-response from them. "You two take care of each other okay."

They both nod, finally looking properly at each other by the time Brittany leaves. She closes the door between herself and the two lovesick fools, eager to get back to Santana. She wonders if she looks at Santana in the same silly way that Rachel looks at Quinn.

— s — — b —

We follow our usual path toward Hunna District. I'd go anywhere with Brittany but I'll be glad to see Mike again. For all that I'll probably never tell him so, I've missed that gangly chinaman. After all these years he's grown on me. Like mould grows in a bathing room; whether you like it or not. Brittany seemed to like him as well and after the stunt with the cricket(which will never not be disgusting) Mike definitely likes her.

It's not as fine a morning as I'd like but the weather is warm and dry enough for now. No matter what, with Brittany beside me I know it will be a good day. She holds my hand and makes every little thing more interesting, more exciting. She looks at everything with this bright, sincere innocence that I can't help but envy.

Near the Sapphire Crown Brittany's steps hesitate much like they did the last time. That same girl as before is standing outside with the man that owns the place. It makes me sad to see a girl so young in a place like that but I know it's none of my business. There's certainly nothing I can do about it. If Shelby tried to snake one of Baldoon's girls all hell could break loose.

Brittany slows down even more so I tighten my grip on her arm. "Come on Sweets. I promise, if we could do anything for them we would but—"

"She looks familiar," Brittany says, hesitant. "Like more than just seeing her here."

I look at the girl again. The truth is, she could probably be Brittany's sister by the look of her, though her eyes are far less interesting than Brittany's and her mouth is set differently. She's tall though with a willowy grace in her bearing much like Brittany's.

Baldoon spots us across the street and gives us a look appropriate for someone about to cause pain.

I give Brittany's arm a more urgent tug and she finally lets me draw her forward. "Lets see about some food Sweets. I don't know about you but I'm starved."

I look up to see the distracted frown disappear from her face. I have to resist the urge to lean up and kiss her. Brittany apparently doesn't feel the same need to keep a proper distance as she leans in to nuzzle at my hair.

"Mikes?" she asks, her voice husky against the shell of my ear.

It's not fair of her to make his name sound so damn desirable. It's a little unsettling and very distracting.

I force a laugh and deliberately shift out of reach of her lips. "Yes to Mike's. Just—Don't say it like that," I say in a mock scolding voice.

Brittany pouts but her eyes sparkle with humour.

"And no more crickets," I say seriously.

The sound of Brittany's genuine laugh is enough to make me feel like I'm walking on air.

— s — — b —

Brittany follows Santana as they weave through the perpetually hectic streets of Hunna dodging between people and boxes and even a cow. They pass the tattoo man who gives them a wink as he recognises them. Brittany and Santana giggle together at the look he gives them and his smirk turns into a disapproving scowl that only makes them laugh harder.

"We should get another one," Brittany suggests eyeing the board of illustrations for something else that could match.

Santana's steps get quicker again and she tugs more firmly at Brittany's arm.

"No more tattoos then?" Brittany guesses.

Santana just shoots a look over her shoulder that states very plainly that she would rather go kiss the cow they just passed. "I love the one I have and I love you but there is no way I am ever doing that again."

It's the first time Brittany's heard those three wonderful words today and she trips a little; she rights herself before anyone notices but she's sure her happiness must be visible for miles. Brittany wants to say it back of course but she isn't sure if it's right. She feels that she loves Santana in every second of every days and could tell her every minute without it being excessive. At the same time she doesn't want the words to seem reactive. She wouldn't want Santana to think she only said them in reflex to her own.

Then Santana glances over her shoulder with the most beautiful smile that shines brightly right to sher eyes.

Brittany has no other choice. "I love you Santana."

Santana's smile turns bashful then and Brittany thinks she is the most precious thing.

They both grin like fools the rest of the way through the district until Mike's shop comes into view.

"Ho, Santana!" Mike calls out. He hugs Santana when they reach him. "I didn't expect you to emerge for at least a month after I heard Brent's Platoon was back in town."

It takes a few moments for Brittany to understand why Santana's cheeks go red.

Mike turns a mischievous grin to Brittany. "Hey killer," he says, knocking her arm with a closed fist. "I heard you've been off shooting Indians"

Brittany feels her stomach lurch in an uncomfortable way. She doesn't know what to say to such a happy sounding assessment of her time away. She settles with, "Not shooting no." It seems like the only thing she could say before she has to stop speaking all together. She glances at Santana who seems to sense her discomfort even if she doesn't know the source of it.

Santana takes her hand and gives it a comforting squeeze as she addresses her friend. "We're her for lunch Mike, not an interrogation."

"Ah, right." he says quickly. "What are you after?"

Santana returns her gaze to Brittany. "What do you think Sweets? Same as last time?

Brittany grins and nods quickly.

Mike's expression returns to his mischief grin but Santana rounds on him with a pointed finger. "No crickets Chang!"

Brittany chuckles at Mike's frown though she's also quite glad she won't have to eat any more bugs.

Mike swings an arm out behind him to guide them inside but then he stops, looking with wide eyes at something behind them.

Brittany turns around to see an oriental girl that she recognises from Corcorans approaching them quickly through the thronging crowds. She's making a line straight for Mike and her expression in nothing but wrathful.

She doesn't even seem to see Brittany _or_ Santana, only Mike as she starts shouting at him—in an American accent so _very_ similar to Brittany's. "How dare you Michael Chang?"

"Tina, you—" he tries to interrupt but she only speaks over him.

"My mother?" she demands. "What makes you think you had any right to reach out to her of all people? What do you think I'm even doing here except to—Oh my God, Santana." Her eyes get incredibly wide as she finally spots the two of them. "…And your soldier. Just perfect," she says, rubbing at one temple. Her eyes fix to Brittany for only a moment before she goes back to yelling at Mike. "Now, see what you've done? I've been perfectly content to stay quiet and now everyone's going to know I can speak english. They're going to want to—"

"Hold up one second Cohen-Chang. What in God's name do you mean you speak English? This is just—just…" Santana trails off, obviously at a loss as to what Tina's new found english understanding exactly is.

Tina looks taken aback by Santana's anger, much like Brittany is. Though Brittany will be the first to admit that she doesn't really understand a lot of what's going on right now.

Santana lets go of Brittany's hand so she can grasp Tina's elbow. "Now Tina, I think we need to have a conversation. You're going to explain this to me nice and slow." She looks back over her shoulder as she walks away from Mike and Brittany with Tina in tow. "We're just going to have a little chat. Just talk amongst yourselves." She waves a dismissive hand behind her, dragging Tina just out of earshot.

Mike shakes his head. "Here I thought I was doing the right thing." He glances at Brittany as she looks at him. "Women huh?" he says with a laugh.

Brittany lets out a huff of laughter that sounds fake, even to her own ears, "Yeah, um… women."

Mike gives her a curious look then sighs. "I know, Pierce. Your name _is_ Pierce right?"

Brittany is completely dumbfounded. "I er—I mean I never, I didn't…" she coughs into one hand, desperately trying to think of the right thing to say. Mike knows but he still hugged Santana when they arrived. That means he's okay with everything right? "Yeah, Pierce," she says finally glancing over to Santana for some kind of indication of what to do or say next. Unfortunately she's very much engaged in her conversation with Tina and is no help at all.

Mike follows her gaze. "I expect you to take care of her all the same you know," he says, surprising her again.

"I will," Brittany swears. Her words and the vow contained in them are automatic.

Mike still seems skeptical. "Even if circumstances were to change?"

"No matter what," Brittany promises, her gaze shifting to where the ring on Santana's finger manages to catch the light even in the murky haze of the district.

"There's… big things coming," Mike mentions obliquely. "For you and—if you let it be—for Santana as well."

"How can you know that? she asks, her eyes going wide. "Are you a fortune teller?"

Mike laughs as he shakes his head. "Just a man with his ear to the ground."

Brittany waits but Mike doesn't elaborate. "Will you tell me—"

"I don't know enough yet," he explains.

That doesn't make much sense to Brittany. "But if it has something—"

"Your sweetheart has quite the mouth on her Chang." Santana's voice immediately draws Brittany's attention out of her conversation with Mike.

Santana looks at him as she continues. "I think you should keep her."

Mike smiles even as Tina rolls her eyes and folds her arms across her chest.

"Next time though," Santana says pointing accusingly between the two of them. "Keep your information to yourself."

Tina must know what Mike knows, Brittany thinks. And Santana doesn't seem at all worried. Brittany is oddly elated by this, though she isn't entirely sure why. Santana takes her right with her left, the gold band of her ring presses between them and Brittany forgets to think about anything else.

Mike smiles as he looks between them. He claps his hands once then rubs them together eagerly. "So. We have cocoa. Have you ever had a cinnamon hot chocolate before?"

Brittany laughs at his sudden eagerness then shakes her head. Santana watches Brittany and continues to even while Mike brings them to a low table.

Once the steaming drinks appear between them Santana's grin gets even wider. "You'll love it Sweets."

Brittany takes a hesitant sniff before lifting the cup to her lips.

Her eyes close as she hums in pleasure at the delicious drink. "Oh my— that's so good."

Santana laughs and Brittany sees her take her own first sip. The frothy milk clings to Santana's upper lip.

Brittany is sure that if there's anything better than Cinnamon hot chocolate, it's cinnamon hot chocolate with Santana.

— s — — b —

Over their hot lunch and delicious drinks Brittany reminds Santana that she promised to cut her hair.

"Okay, but not too short?" Santana asks with a hopeful smile.

Brittany nods. She isn't so very excited to lose her long hair either but if what Mike says is true and change is on the way then… well she doesn't want to be caught unprepared. She doesn't want to be worried about something as trivial as her hair.

Brittany pays and thanks Mike profusely for their drinks then Santana leads them back to Corcorans. It may not be their clearing but Brittany is glad to be with Santana no matter where they are, no matter what they're doing.

Santana points Brittany to a room upstairs then disappears into her own to find a pair of scissors. They'll be using sewing rather than barber's scissors but that will have to do.

Brittany waits outside their room for Santana, looking toward the door where she knows Quinn will still be in bed. She hopes that Rachel is still with her.

When Santana appears without any scissors in her hands Brittany wants to ask but Santana just takes her hand and guides her into their room. She closes the door behind them and releases Brittany's hand to drag a simple wooden chair from the corner, into a small section of open space. Brittany tosses off her cap and unbuttons her overshirt to put it aside as has long become a habit when alone with Santana. It's nice to have the physical reminder that she can be herself with Santana; she feels safe.

She still hasn't seen any scissors yet though and she's worried that when she does, she might forget about the dangers and refuse to go through with the cut after all.

With the chair situated Santana moves to stand behind her, hands going to Brittany's shoulders.

"Are you okay Sweets?" Santana asks, nose nuzzling against Brittany's shoulder.

Brittany doesn't know what to say.

"This is your choice Britt," Santana says, her voice serious. "Whatever you want to do. I'm here for you. I love you no matter what."

Brittany closes her eyes and smiles because Santana always knows what to say. She finally nods and Santana guides her by the shoulders to the chair. Brittany obeys the light nudge so she's sitting down with Santana in front of her. Brittany's hand goes straight to Santana's hip as she looks up into the warm eyes that she adores in all lights, at all times.

Santana gives her a small smile. "Are you ready Sweets? Cause I actually think this is going to look agreeably—well…" Santana trails off, waggling her eyebrows with a little laugh. Brittany can't help the blush that spreads in her cheeks at Santana's suggestive tone, though she's finally feeling a little more at ease thanks to Santana's good humour.

Brittany tugs Santana towards her until she falls to sitting sideways in her lap. Santana's arms go around Brittany's neck—always careful of her hurt shoulder—as she joins their lips in a languid kiss. Brittany's hands move daringly around Santana's back and she feels the hard edge of what could only be a pair of scissors tucked into the waist of Santana's skirt.

She leans back with a sigh as their lips disconnect and she draws her hands back to rest one at Santana's lower back and the other on a warm thigh. Santana's eyes, still glazed from the kiss become even less focused as Brittany lets her hand drift along her leg. From knee to the top of Santana's thigh, Brittany trails her hand up and down. She can see Santana's throat shift in a swallow and the arms around her neck flex when she squeezes her hand tighter against Santana's leg.

"Britt," Santana says in a warning that comes out more as a breathy whine.

Brittany lets her hand drift between Santana's legs to apply further pressure to the supple flesh a few inches short of the apex of Santana's thighs. The flex of muscles beneath Brittany's hand makes a pulse of arousal burst through her own abdomen as Santana's breath escapes in a sharp exhale.

"Britt?" Santana breaths.

"Uh huh?" Brittany replies, still intermittently moving and gently squeezing her hand. She's utterly transfixed by the small responses she's able to illicit from Santana with the touch.

Santana's gaze sharpens as she looks into Brittany's eyes. "Unless you're planning on doing more than grope me, I'm really gonna need you to stop that."

Brittany's hand immediately stills on Santana's leg, her fingers dangerously close to what she could swear is a moist heat. She and Santana are both breathing heavier than normal and Santana's eyes seem far darker than they were just minutes ago. Brittany gulps and withdraws her hand. Her shoulder is still a mess of broken flesh under slowly healing scars. Santana knows as well as she does that Brittany won't be able to treat Santana with the care that she wants to.

Santana takes Brittany's silence for the answer it is, sliding off Brittany's lap and out of her arms. Santana doesn't go too far though and Brittany is glad for that at least. Moments after standing she's behind Brittany again, pressing a quick kiss to Brittany's neck above her collar.

Brittany hears the rasp of scissors and she resists the urge to shiver at the sound. _This is necessary,_ she reminds herself. She doesn't feel safe as she is. She can't keep on the way she has been, just hoping for the best. Any time she thinks of how close things came to out of control. Every time she thinks of the hopelessness she felt lying trapped under Nelson a tightness in her chest that so closely resembles panic always grips her.

She needs this. It's a small gesture but cutting her hair will make her feel less vulnerable. She needs that right now. It could take months for her shoulder to heal fully. She has to do anything she can to protect herself and to protect Santana. So far, everyone that knows is a friend. They've been lucky.

Brittany leans back into Santana's hand when she feels her fingers gently loosening her hair from its braid.

"Are you ready?" Santana asks one last time as her long hair becomes loose around her shoulders.

Brittany only hesitates a moment before she nods.

"Okay, sit still. I don't want to accidentally take your ear off or something," she laughs.

Brittany feels her heart speed up again. Santana's in front of her a moment later her eyes wide with apology.

"I'm sorry," Santana kisses into her lips. "I'll be careful. And everything will be fine, I promise." She kisses her again. "Everything is fine."

Once Brittany's breath has returned to a normal rate Santana returns to her place behind her chair.

"Okay," Brittany lets out around a gust of air.

Santana gives a comforting squeeze to Brittany's good shoulder and she nods again.

The metallic rasp of the scissors sounds again as Brittany feels strong fingers running along her scalp and gathering her hair at the back of her neck. There's a slight tug and a distinctive noise that Brittany vaguely recalls from the last time her hair was cut(it must be so long ago).

She remains perfectly still as snip after snip makes her head feel gradually lighter and the warmth of her hair disappears from her shoulders and neck. Santana moves around her, snipping here and there in careful motions, dusting the clipped hair away from her shoulders and onto the floor.

Eventually, Santana stands in front of her and Brittany sees the scissors for the first time. She's very glad she didn't see them beforehand. Santana tugs at the locks of hair either side of her face, fingers trailing down the strands to check for an even length. Brittany guesses that the ends must stop just short of her shoulders. She gulps, fearful of the image but doesn't say anything.

Santana takes a step back and tilts her head to the side speculatively. Finally she nods and smiles broadly, crossing her arms with the scissors still in her hand.

"All gone?" Brittany asks nervously, trying to match Santana's smile.

Santana isn't fooled for an instant. She leaves the scissors on the floor by the door and approaches Brittany, resuming her place in Brittany's lap. This time Santana straddles her so eager hands settle on Santana's thighs once more. Brittany's smile becomes genuine as she accepts the distraction happily.

Santana runs her hands through Brittany's hair. Brittany's eyes close; she'll always love the feel of Santana's fingers against her scalp. Brittany turns her head so the ends of her hair shift against her neck and shoulders. Santana seems to have cut it off just above shoulder length so it still frames her face and tickles the tops of her shoulders.

Santana plays with the ends for a few moments longer before she twitches at Brittany's earlobe. Brittany opens her eyes to look up at her.

Lifting one hand so she can feel her own hair, Brittany tries to smile. "I think I like it," she says, finally.

"I think it's perfect," Santana says.

The breathy quality in her tone reminds Brittany of what she'd felt when Santana was sitting on her thighs before. She looses focus, staring into Santana's eyes as both hands settle easily back on her thighs. She becomes aware of how much more exposed Santana is to her now; knees spread and flanking Brittany's waist.

Brittany swallows again, her eyes darting down to Santana's lips. Those beautiful, wonderful lips that Brittany knows will part so perfectly when she touches, or kisses or licks exactly the right spot.

Confident hands start to drift up like before. Brittany keeps her hands on top of Santana's things, but she gives a squeeze at her hip before drifting back to her knees. Up and back down again her hands move in a slow dance as she watches every flutter and shift in Santana's expression.

When Santana bites her lip Brittany lets her hands drift out and down to the outside of Santana's thigh. She moves further until she can sneak her hands underneath and grasp at Santana's ass. Brittany can't help the smirk that crosses her own face when not only do Santana's eyes flutter closed but her lips part in _exactly_ the way she was hoping for.

She squeezes again but doesn't get to see any more of Santana's reaction. She gets to feel it instead as Santana surges forward. Her hips get closer to Brittany's and her arms curl around her neck as she connects their lips and their bodies in the most intimate embrace they've shared.

— s — — b —

I just can't help the way my body reacts to her. As soon as her hands made the grab for my ass I was gone. I surged forward needing to feel her closer to me; needing her breasts pressed to mine; needing to feel every part of her under my hands. She leans into me, pulling at my hips so we slide even closer together. Her reactions fuel mine. She rocks up into me as I rock down into her. Both of us gasping into each others mouths.

I have that thought in the back of my head that I can't hurt her. I know that her shoulder is too damaged for us to do anything more than this. It's what she wants. I know this but I can't help the way my body reacts. I don't think anyone could. I can only _react_ as Brittany's tongue traces over my lips and finally slides over my tongue. It's incredible how the sensations from such a small physical connection can so overwrite my every mental capacity. The physical stimulation is overwhelming and wonderful and incapacitating.

I break away from her as a groan threatens to escape me. I look into her eyes as my hands slip between us to grasp at the front of her shirt. "Do you think, maybe I could try…" I trail off as I realise that I'm not really sure exactly what I want or even how to express anything I'm feeling. I stop the rocking of my hips and draw back from her slightly in an attempt to regain some part of my ability to think clearly.

Brittany just nods her head. She'll do anything I ask of her right now, I'm sure of it. I try not to think too hard on the possibilities as I draw her shirt out from her slacks. It's more difficult than it needs to be considering our position(which I love) and her belt(which I'm hating). I release my grip on her shirt and I'm sure Brittany looks mildly disappointed but I grin as I grasp her jaw. My ring winks happily back at me as I lean in to press a lingering kiss to her lips.

I stand and this time I know she's disappointed as she looks up at me with a dramatic pout. I chuckle as I take her hand and pull at her to stand with me. She towers over me and I wonder how I always forget how tall she is.

"Okay, first of all," I laugh. "You need to take those boots off because you're too tall. It isn't fair."

Brittany just shakes her head but doesn't hesitate to kick off her boots by the heal. She's still taller than me without them but not so overwhelmingly so. It doesn't matter really since I'm not planning on remaining standing for much longer. My heart hasn't really slowed even with the break in our kissing. I swear just being within arms reach of Brittany is enough to have my heart racing and my breath caught up in my chest.

She grins down at me with the confident smile and I'm so glad to see it again. It's been absent since she'd decided to cut her hair and I was beginning to worry I might not see it again. The grin falters a little as I unbuckle her belt and pull her shirt the rest of the way from her slacks. Her eyes become darker, flicking down to my lips. I smile as I kiss her again. I will never be sick of kissing her.

I somehow find the fortitude to break the kiss so I can look her in the eye. I need to watch her to make sure that this is okay. I think it is; I'm pretty sure it is, but still. With the entire hem of her undershirt loose I begin to draw it up, this time not stopping at the level of her bandages. I keep drawing the fabric up until Brittany has to lift her arms for me to go any further. I keep my eyes locked with hers so I see the breathless moment of hesitation before she finally lifts her arms.


	22. Waiting To Be Strong Again

AN: I never feel like I can properly express how much I love you guys. All the favourites and alerts are just so incredible to me. I apologise for leaving you for so long. It was never my intention and I'll try to avoid such extensive delays again. Please feel free to PM me. Really. I love hearing from you who follows my tumblr will find the first few thousand words pretty familiar but there is some new stuff scattered in there too.

I want to make a cover image for this story too but can't decide what it should be or include. If anyone has any ideas pplease let me know.

Huge shout out to my lovely new beta Chombiric. Also to the one and only naynay1963 for corrections and for tirelessly nudging me through finishing this chapter.

* * *

Clothier, New Mexico, 1880

Brittany suddenly feels incredibly nervous. She hadn't really thought about Santana seeing her naked. Okay, that's a lie, because she had thought about it a lot. She just hadn't anticipated it happening now. With her hair suddenly cropped so much shorter and her chest still bandaged it's like she's so far from her own self that… she doesn't know how to feel.

But Santana is so gentle. She looks deep into Brittany's eyes with this hopeful glint. Brittany lifts her arms and her shirt is gone. The warm air against her bare skin is actually wonderful. It happens so infrequently that…

Oh, Santana is staring.

Santana seems to have gotten distracted by the uncovered skin of Brittany's abdomen. She'd noticed the same thing happen when the sun tattoo was being etched there. Santana's eyes went down but didn't come back up again. Her body is toned, the muscles of her stomach clearly defined. Santana seems to like it very much. Brittany twists a little and Santana's eyes follow, the grip on Brittany's shirt tightening before it's discarded to the floor.

"San?"

"Uh huh?"

"Are you okay?"

Santana's eyes finally come back up to Brittany's and she blinks a few times before her cheeks darken in the deepest blush that Brittany has seen on her. Santana gives a weak smile which turns into a chuckle when she sees that Brittany is smiling at her still. Brittany can't help the grin that pulls at her lips. She tries to stifle it by biting down on her bottom lip. Santana looks away like she has no other choice but to do so.

She holds up one hand between them, "Okay," Santana laughs. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Brittany wants Santana to explain. Whatever it is that makes Santana blush like this is worth understanding.

"Just—what's this?" Santana's gaze drops to the amulet Brittany has taken to wearing around her neck.

It's not a real amulet obviously, but Brittany likes the weight of it around her neck. She likes how the feathers tickle against her skin sometimes. She took the arrowhead necklace off yesterday, because she didn't want it between them. Now that Santana can understand what it means Brittany doesn't mind telling her. Santana scoops up the triangle of bone where it's all tied up with the pretty blue and brown feathers, hanging from the leather chord.

"That was in my shoulder."

Santana drops her hands away and looks up at Brittany with wide eyes. "It was—Brittany why would you keep that?"

Brittany can't help but chuckle a little at her reaction. She picks up Santana's left hand, pulling it back up between them. Keeping a firm grasp on Santana's hand, Brittany gently manipulates the fingers back into a relaxed position, palm up.

"It's okay," she assures. "It's not even sharp."

Brittany picks up the amulet and slips the chord easily up over her head. She pushes the soft feathers back with her thumb to expose the pale arrowhead. The edges are rough but do no damage as she rubs her thumb over one side. She looks up into Santana's eyes and gives her another reassuring smile before running that same edge over Santana's upturned hand. Santana's eyes snap down and her hand flinches back at the contact, but Brittany holds her steady.

"It can't hurt me anymore, see?" She says her words quiet, with all the gravity of a prayer. Brittany doesn't really know how to pray, but she thinks she understands why people do. "I know that things can hurt me, but I also know I can survive them."

Brittany doesn't say anything else for a while. She just runs the now dull shard over Santana's palm, tickling the skin with a light pressure. Santana lets out a breath of air.

"Does that make sense?" Brittany asks. She knows she hasn't really said much at all, but she thinks Santana will understand anyway.

Santana's fingers close over the amulet. "I think so."

Brittany lets her hand drop and just watches Santana as she lifts the amulet close enough to her eyes that her breath stirs the blue feather?. She runs her own thumb over the feathers so they cover the arrowhead again.

Brittany smiles, because yes, Santana does understand.

Santana looks up to return Brittany's warm expression. "Just… Go sit down, okay?" Santana turns away to put Brittany's amulet together with the rest of her clothes on the chair which she shifts back into a corner.

Brittany does as she's told, arranging herself so that there's as little pressure on her shoulder as possible. She glances out the window and sees the light turning golden with the last sunshine of the day. She's sure it's beautiful.

It's nothing compared to Santana, though.

She's standing at the foot of the bed, taking off one shoe at a time. Even something so simple is enough to hold Brittany's attention. Then Santana pulls away her skirts and starts unbuttoning her blouse.

"San?" Brittany says half in warning, half in question.

Santana stops what she's doing to lean down and kiss Brittany briefly. "It's okay, Sweets. I won't—I mean, we don't have to—" she looks down, apparently frustrated with her inability to express herself. She looks up and Brittany can see so much emotion in her eyes. "We can do other things without having sex and I want to see you." She's blushing just as hotly as Brittany is. "I want you to see me."

There's a question in Santana's last words. She wants Brittany to see her, but she wants to know if _Brittany_ wants to see her too. Brittany might not know a lot of things but that question right there is the easiest one she'll answer all day.

"I really, really like that idea, San."

Santana lets out a laugh at the breathlessness of her tone. Brittany is glad she can make Santana smile even if she is nervous. There's this nagging worry that keeps emerging in quiet moments like this. Brittany is worried about so many things. What if she's wrong about this life that she's fallen into? What if she gets caught? Can she become any more Brent and still be Brittany? What if Santana isn't so sure of things? How can she be sure when Brittany doesn't know who she is?

"San?" Brittany asks as Santana gets down to her chemise. "Do you think—umm, is there…" she sighs, just as frustrated as Santana at how hard words are. "Do you ever, sometimes, maybe wish I wasn't… you know…" she trails off, hoping that Santana will somehow just understand what she's worried about.

Santana raises one eyebrow as she leans against the foot of the bed. Brittany pulls her feet up toward herself so Santana can have more room if she wants.

"Wasn't what, Sweets?"

Brittany sighs, picking at her thumbnail nervously. "I kinda look like a boy, I mean, I act like one all the time and everything," she says everything in a rush, still looking at her hands. "Would it be easier if I just wasn't a girl at al—"

Santana is by her side before she realises, holding a hand over her mouth. Brittany feels tears in her eyes and she hates that she let herself get so upset in front of Santana again. She doesn't want to feel like this anymore. She just doesn't know what to do. She's still a girl, but she's a boy most of the time as well. Which one of her does Santana really care about? Brittany or Brent?

Santana's smile is incredibly warm as she slowly pulls her hand from Brittany's mouth. She doesn't withdraw completely, rather shifting her hand to hold her jaw instead. Her thumb makes small circles against Brittany's cheek.

"I want _you_, Brittany. All of you. Like a puzzle, every piece of you is a part of the whole. I love you no matter what you're wearing. Whether you're dressed as a boy or just acting like one and if I ever get to see you in a dress." She bites her lip, trying (and failing) to hide her salacious smile at the idea of Brittany in a dress. "No matter how you might need to act," she pushes her hand up into Brittany's hair, "or whatever side of _this_ you need to embrace, I will always love you."

Brittany feels more tears fall down her cheeks. Santana always says perfect things. She feels Santana's lips pressed against her own and she doesn't hesitate to kiss back, because Santana always _does_ the perfect things too.

Brittany pulls Santana closer to her, needing to feel the warmth of her body. There's little between them now, but Santana had said she wanted to see her. Brittany wants to see Santana's body too; she just doesn't know how to ask or even begin to make that happen. Luckily Santana must be thinking the same thing if the delicate fingers running along the edge of her bandages are anything to go by.

Santana pulls back first but hesitates. As soon as Brittany opens her eyes again Santana shuffles further back on the bed until she can bend forward at the waist. Brittany's heart almost stops as Santana gets closer to her chest. She dips lower and suddenly her lips are pressed against Brittany's ribcage. The golden sun, whose celestial mate is etched over Santana's own ribcage, falls under her love's mouth. The moist heat against her skin sends pleasant tingles through her whole body. Her fingers go straight into Santana's hair, making Santana tilt her head, though she doesn't slow her attentions to Brittany's tattoo.

Santana throws one leg over both of Brittany's so she's straddling her thighs. Brittany tries not to react to the action, but she can't bite back the whimper or stop her grip tightening in Santana's hair. The feel of gentle fingertips running over her sides only increases her arousal further.

Brittany already feels like she could implode under the sensations, but then Santana tugs the end of her bandages loose and starts pulling the fabric out and around Brittany's body. The friction of the bandages slipping between Brittany's back and the bed makes shivers run down her spine. Suddenly she is going to be wholly exposed to not only Santana's eyes but to her touch and—oh god—to her wandering lips. Those incredible lips, the sly teeth and the delicate tongue—currently sneaking out to trace over illustrated sun rays—all have access to Brittany's sensitive skin.

Finally the last lengths of fabric fall loose and with one more quick kiss to Brittany's ribs Santana leans back, her eyes going directly to Brittany's face. She only glances away to throw the bundled bandages into the pile of Brittany's uniform. Brittany feels like she wants to cover herself for an instant, but Santana must expect that, because she grabs both of her hands. She shuffles forward on her knees again and then settles her weight on Brittany's thighs again. Santana releases her grip and Brittany can't help but smile as her hands find their natural place against Santana's legs. She squeezes Santana's thighs, delighted to see Santana bite down on her bottom lip and shift subtly.

One of Santana's hands lifts to trace over the bandages still wrapped securely over Brittany's shoulder. Brittany tries not to flinch as her fingers lightly touch over the healing wound. Santana sees something in her expression to make her frown and her hands drop to Brittany's sides. Brittany smiles and presses the tops of Santana's thighs to say that she's alright.

Santana doesn't say anything aloud, but her eyes say so much. The 'I love you' and 'I want you' are clear enough. Brittany kisses her again and is proud that she manages to keep her head when Santana's fingers brush up her sides and stroke the underside of her breasts. Santana is hesitating, Brittany can feel it. She shifts her hands up to Santana's hips and finds those warm eyes again. Santana's breath is shallow just like hers and she's keeping her gaze level with Brittany's but only just.

"It's okay," Brittany says with a smile.

Santana's answering smile is soft, almost shy. Her eyes flicker down for only a second. Brittany just breathes a little deeper.

"Are you sure?" Santana asks in a whisper.

Brittany nods yes. She's never been more sure.

Both of Santana's hands go in opposite directions. Her right hand drifts down to settle on Brittany's hip but the other shifts up. Brittany doesn't know where Santana is looking anymore, because her own eyes fall shut as she lets out an approving hum. Santana's palm is warm against her breast for the first time and it feels incredible. She never could have imagined it would feel like this.

She pulls at Santana's hips as the girl in her lap starts moving her hand. Both of Santana's hands are moving—one over her breast and the other across her abdomen.

"San…" Brittany says her name but has nothing to add. She just wants to know she's there.

"Britt," Santana husks back, her lips brushing over Brittany's cheek.

Her voice is low and gorgeous and Brittany is torn between the need to kiss her and the urge to request a song. Since the second option seems selfish Brittany settles on the first, capturing Santana's lips and tugging at her hips. Santana grunts and Brittany realises with a jumping heart that her restless hands and body have caused Santana to shift. Bending her knee slightly, Brittany realises that she can actually _feel_ Santana's heat against her thigh. She bumps her leg up again, just to make sure.

The feelings coursing through Brittany's body are overwhelming as both Santana's hands find their place against Brittany's breasts. She shifts a little lower on the bed and uses her hands on Santana's hips to pull her down with a little more force. Santana gasps, disconnecting their kiss and giving Brittany the chance to trail her lips across Santana's jaw and down her neck. It's exhilarating, the sounds Santana makes when Brittany sucks a little at her neck. The skin won't bruise so easily, but knowing that Santana would undoubtedly make some delicious sounds make her want to try.

Santana has taken to rocking against Brittany's thigh of her own accord, her right hand shifting into blonde locks. Brittany takes this as an urging or at least a permission and she uses this opportunity to suck Santana's delicious skin into her mouth, nibbling gently with her teeth to draw the blood, blossoming under the surface of her skin. She lets go of that spot but doesn't stop peppering kisses across Santana's neck, over her collar bone and the perfect curve of her shoulder.

Santana's hips keep up their rocking and Brittany finds herself rolling into the natural rhythm. Her hands shift to Santana's lower back grasping at the fabric of the chemise. She can't curse its presence, because now she has something to hold on to. She does tug it up, though, and with the aid of Santana's perpetually shifting backside, she quickly has access to the infinitely soft skin of Santana's back and shoulder blades.

She continues her worship of Santana's skin and body; her lips and tongue map out every inch of Santana's neck and shoulders; her fingers trace over the delicate contours of her back. A jolt of pleasure runs straight down as Santana ghosts her fingertips over one nipple. It doesn't seem fair that Santana's the only one to experience this particular sensation and she makes quick work of remedying the inequality.

Her left hand makes a quick adjustment, sneaking over Santana's hip and under the arm that remains threaded in her hair. With her fingertips splayed against the side of Santana's breast, Brittany copies Santana's movement by shifting her thumb out and across the peak she knows is waiting for her.

Brittany licks at the skin of Santana's neck as her goddess rocks harder into her thigh. She palms the entirety of Santana's breast, loving the weight and the feel beyond anything else. Then Santana gasps out a word that might be Brittany's name and shudders hard.

It takes a moment for Brittany to realise what's happening, but when she does there is no fighting that tender affection in her heart or the blissful smile that represents it. She lifts her chin and it's Santana that rejoins their lips—wet and messy in haste—as the last tremors wrack her body.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1875

Shelby looks between myself and Tenaka like she can't quite believe what she's hearing.

"You want to sell her to me?" she asks incredulously.

"No, not like that." Tenaka scrunches up his face in concentration as he looks from my chest to Shelby's more ample one. "More like a—a trade."

I try not to appear as scared as I am when Shelby looks over me with fresh eyes. I know she could take me. She hired Quinn as one of her girls and I can admit that the idea was startling. The perfect, blonde city girl saw Corcorans as a refuge from her cold world; an opportunity and a meal ticket. I'm still having trouble seeing it as anything other than a brothel; one of those houses that so much of Tenaka's money disappears into.

Now there is no money. Tenaka accepted house credit with no means of paying it back. He gambled and bought whores on borrowed money and now Shelby aims to collect. I can see Shelby's strong men standing subtly in a corner behind the bar and even though they aren't looking directly at us I know it would only take a moment for them to string Tenaka up by his ankles—and maybe me as well.

I can see sweat gathering on Tenaka's brow as Shelby puts thought into his desperation-fuelled bargain.

She looks into my eyes and I hold her gaze. I don't know what she's looking for. I don't know what kind of woman she might be that she would accept a person as trade for services.

"Slavery has been dead for a long time, Mr Tenaka," she says finally, crossing her arms over her chest.

He huffs and blusters and makes a show of taking offence at her words. "Well, yeah, but I'm not asking for money, am I?"

"You're offering her instead of money. It's the same thing."

I still don't wholly understand. Quinn is a beautiful girl who offered herself willingly for employment. Shelby will be paying Quinn for her work. Would Shelby pay me? That would put her at a loss as far as Tenaka's debt is concerned.

Tenaka continues to make noises of protestation even as he fails to retract his offer. He would sell me to this woman if she would only accept.

She ignores him. "What do you think?" she asks me.

Tenaka puts a warning hand on my arm, but I already know better than to answer. My skin crawls even with the fabric of my dress between my skin and his.

"Don't bother with the girl," Tenaka tries to laugh. "She hasn't been right in the head since her father died."

Shelby's attention returns to him, her eyes wide, "She isn't your daughter?"

"Well, no. Her father was a friend and he asked me to—"

"To sell her to the first place you couldn't settle a debt with?" Shelby is angry, but she visibly restrains herself as she goes on in a cold voice. "You had better not have touched her." She sounds as sickened as I feel at the idea.

"No," Tenaka waves her concern away like it's nothing. "No, I'm not interested in this."

_Yet_ I complete in my mind.

Tenaka goes on. "You could fetch a nice price for her, er, more delicate—"

"That's quite enough out of you." Shelby's disgust is palpable. "What, do you think I'll settle your debt _and_ pay you out as well? For this girl's virginity?"

She looks back at me and I expect to see the same disgust she had trained on Tenaka. Instead her eyes are soft and full of pity. I hate pity.

Shelby tilts her head in question. "What do you want, Santana?"

It's such a simple question. It's also a question that I haven't heard in a very long time.

Shelby elaborates. "You can stay here and work for me. I'll pay you accordingly." Tenaka sputters like he hadn't considered the possibility of me getting paid. Shelby ignores him. "You can stay here and never see your," she pauses before spitting out the word, "caretaker again. He will leave and you will stay. _Or_ you can chose to stay with him, and I'll keep a few of his fingers instead."

She smirks at me like we're sharing a good joke and I feel my own lips quiver in response. Tenaka is swearing something vile at the two of us, but I don't really hear it. If I stay with him he will force himself on me eventually. That's if I don't starve to death first.

Shelby must see the choice in my eyes. "You can room with Quinn; sweep floors with her until you're sixteen."

She needn't have made the offer, but I'm glad for it all the same. I nod my head and she smiles.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

It takes me a full sixty seconds to transition from mindless bliss to utter mortification. I was meant to be making Brittany feel better. Not… making myself feel… okay, incredible, but that's entirely beside the point.

I pull back from Brittany

"Oh my god," I groan, throwing myself onto the bed and hiding my face in the pillow.

"What, San?" Brittany's voice is full of calm concern.

"I wanted to make you feel special," I grumble, not lifting my head. She doesn't hear me so I just repeat it louder, still keeping my burning face buried.

Brittany lets out a light chuckle. "I feel pretty special right now."

I still, thinking over her words. "Really?" I turn my head so I can see her face, her smile shining down on me. "Even after I—I used your—" I can't even finish that sentence. It's too mortifying.

Brittany's smile is so warm, her eyes shine with so much love that I can't help but melt under her gaze.

"Especially after you could do _that_ with me. I want to make you feel good," she admits, colour creeping up her cheeks. "I only wish I wasn't so broken so I could have, you know, done a little more myself."

I turn away from that delighted smile. She's just not being fair right now. She chuckles again and I feel the bed shift and then her lips are pressed to my shoulder. It's so sweet and then gone, I can't help but turn onto my side so I can look at her.

She's lying on her side, against her good shoulder with her head resting against the same pillow as me. "There you are," she whispers.

I realise that the room is dark. Something I'd somehow completely missed until now. I could see Brittany's face by the light of the moon shining through the window. Now she's caught in the shadow of my own shoulder, but I can still see her eyes, her gentle smile.

I feel more at ease just looking at her. Eventually my embarrassment fades and I can return her smile.

Brittany's grin turns mischievous. "San?"

I hum a sound to let her know I'm listening.

She leans forward to press a light kiss against my lips. "You can ride me any time you want."

I want to scold her for teasing me or maybe tease her back, but all I can do is look at her adoringly and wonder how I got so lucky to have her with me. I settle for slapping at her side and she leans back laughing. The way her breasts shift with the movement makes me feel warm all over again, but I force my eyes back up to hers. She smirks at me like she knows exactly what I'm thinking. Her gaze shifts to my lips then to my neck. The look in her eye makes me red faced and flustered all over again as she reaches out and touches a spot on my neck. I suck in a sharp breath at the pain of the bruise. Brittany marked me and I never knew that idea could be so…stimulating. I am hers and she is mine.

I lean forward and reconnect our lips. I force my hand to a spot on her back to keep from going straight back to her chest. Apparently Brittany doesn't have quite the same reservations; both her hands slip in under my chemise. She grips my hips and pulls me to lie on top of her again. I move under her hands carefully, aware of the pain in her shoulder. My body is still hot, though, and I try to keep the rhythm of my hips in check.

Brittany starts pulling at the hem of my chemise and I freeze. She freezes right along with me.

"Britt?"

Her voice is scratchy, desire clear in her tone. "Can I see?"

— s — — b —

Brittany doesn't know what prompted her to ask. She knows she shouldn't have; she's crossed every boundary that she'd meant to keep in place. It's just that Santana is so…Santana, and Brittany has wanted this for so long. She wonders if she can have this, all of this now, tonight, because she loves this beautiful girl with all of her heart and her whole body is burning with the need to be _with_ her, to _touch_ her.

Santana's body stops with the question and Brittany follows her lead, forcing her hands to still.

Santana chews her lip, her eyes going to the bandages wrapped over Brittany's shoulder. "Does that mean..."

Brittany shakes her head. "I don't know, I just—can I see you?" It's the only concrete thought she can hold onto.

Santana stares at her long enough for Brittany to worry that she's ruined this. Santana sits up and Brittany follows, grimacing slightly as the strain pulls at her shoulder. She leans in, kissing Santana to hide her pain and slowly begins to pull the fabric of Santana's chemise upward. Her hands inch over the curve of her hip, past one, two, three ribs and Santana lifts her arms so the whole slip can be pulled over her head.

Brittany loses her breath as Santana's hair falls back around her shoulders; her eyes steal Brittany's breath as she tries to bring together what she knows and what she wants. She wants Santana, but she knows that she can't have her…yet.

Brittany's eyes drop to the supple flesh that she'd held in her hands only minutes ago (it feels like longer). The gentle curve, the subtle but not so subtle change in skin tone, the perfect peaks of Santana's nipple which Brittany so very much wants to touch.

There is no logical explanation for how she feels, no absolutes here. Brittany has never done well with absolutes anyway. The one plus one of any situation usually eludes her. Nothing about Santana escapes her attention, though. They both need this; they both want this.

Brittany leans forward and kisses Santana's skin just below her collarbone. Santana gasps but remains still, only her arms shifting as she pushes her fingers into Brittany's hair. She draws them both back onto the bed so that Brittany is lying over Santana for the first time tonight. She holds herself up on her good arm but feels a dull ache reminding her of her limits. She kisses Santana then looks down, past her breasts to the moon illustrated across her ribs.

She traces her fingertips over the delicate drawing. Santana is her moon. Her other half. Brittany is reminded of the dream she had while she was away from Santana and their clearing.

"I can feel you watching me," she murmurs quietly, tracing her fingertips over the delicate moon shape.

"Sweets?" Santana questions curiously.

"I wish you were really here," Brittany adds.

Santana looks more confused. "I am here, what do—" realisation lights her eyes. "Oh."

Brittany feels her heartbeat speed up. Santana was there as well. She strokes her hand over the moon again. "I wish the colours would happen here, too. They were pretty."

She looks up to see Santana nod as she chews her lip. Her eyes shimmer in the dim light from outside. Brittany leans in to kiss her again. She feels a new urgency as her hand slides up from Santana's ribs to hold over her breast. Santana lets out a grunt and her hips shift upwards. Brittany moves with her and drops her hand to the bed so she can shift more fully into Santana.

The pain in her shoulder smashes through Brittany's body and she collapses onto her right side with a groan. Santana turns with her, mumbling apologies and admonitions in equal measure. Brittany just feels pain.

"Ow," she groans. "That hurt."

"I'm sorry, Sweets. Maybe we should just…"

"Yeah, I guess so." Brittany fights a pout.

Brittany pulls Santana into her arms as best as she can and Santana lays her head against Brittany's good shoulder. She kisses the skin there then asks her to talk more about San Francisco. Brittany knows it's just a distraction for both of them, but she searches through her memories anyway.

They keep talking about their pasts and imagine their happy, impossible futures together. Brittany feels like the girl in her arms opens up her heart and shares it with her. She tells her how she came to Clothier and Brittany holds her even tighter as she reveals how she came to work for Shelby. Santana talks and Brittany listens. Brittany takes in every secret and every detail, holding them as precious things to keep.

Brittany tells Santana she loves her and Santana says the same.

— s — — b —

Brittany is up and dressed before the morning bell. She sighs and kisses me awake as it rings. I hold her to me for longer than I should. The rough fabric of her shirt brushes against my still bare chest and makes me gasp. She pulls away after a few moments, her eyes slightly glazed. My own breath comes in short pants. She turns to leave, but I jump out from under the covers to follow her and I catch her at the door. I press her to the wall demanding one more lingering kiss and she obliges, her hands shifting distractedly across my lower back. I tangle my fingers into her hair not allowing any distance to grow between us.

One of her hands creeps over my hip to my stomach where she hesitates. I grasp the back of her hand and bring it up to my naked breast. She whimpers into my neck.

"San," she breathes. "We can't…"

"I know. But I…" I trail off.

"I know," Brittany iterates.

She kisses me hard, grabbing my hips and pulling me into her, forcing another moan from my lips. It's devastating and liberating and incredible and beautiful. She makes me feel everything all at once and it makes me dizzy. I pull away and nuzzle my nose into her neck. I kiss the skin nearest my lips because I can and she breathes in sharply though her nose.

"San," she says in a low warning.

I can't help but laugh. "I know Sweets." I look up at her and put a small measure of distance between us. "Go," I say, nodding to the door. "Before I take what I want."

I let the playfulness ring clear in my voice and Brittany grins as she nudges her forehead against my temple. I push up onto my tiptoes so that we're almost eye level again.

"When you're healed, Sweets, you're all mine," I promise both Brittany and myself as I let go of her neck and step away from her.

Brittany looks ready to pull me back into her. The smoulder in her gaze suggests she might yet push me back onto the bed and have her way with me after all. Instead, she lets out a shaky breath, blinking once then twice and looking toward the door, a light blush colouring her cheeks.

She retucks the shirt that I'd managed to pull from her belt then pulls her jacket back over her shoulders with just her good arm threaded through her jacket sleeves.

"I love you, Santana," she says as a resolute goodbye.

"I love you, too." What I really mean is, I always will.

— s — — b —

I'm sure that my smile could be visible from New York. Not even an unbalanced ledger or even Kurt's teasing about the love bites on my neck could temper it. I don't think a hot poker in the eye could dampen my good spirits. I'd received extra duties from Shelby because of everything I'd neglected in my time with Brittany yesterday, but it was worth it. Spending a night like that with her was just… my heart aches every time I think of it.

Brittany is perfect; wounded and frustrating and perfect.

If it was up to me I would spend every night, even every day, like that. It was the absolute truth when I said I'd marry her. I would and I know that one day I will. Somehow, we will have our wishing place in reality and then…and then we will have everything.

I have my ring hanging from a silver chain around my neck. The weight is a perfect reminder of Brittany even in her absence. I'd have it on my hand always, but that isn't necessarily the safest option. I don't completely understand why, but it was Brittany's request. She was hesitant to even say it out loud, so I know she is only worried for me. The look that made her brow crinkle and her mouth set tense reminded me of the night before she left Clothier. That man, Ryan something, had shaken her so very much. Whatever threat he poses is still a mystery, but I'm reluctant to bring it up even now. That's a part of her past that she's only ever mentioned obliquely.

The door opening abruptly and slamming against the frame draws my attention. I drop out of my seat as Kurt and Shelby both dash from her office. Shane appears from some unknown corner but stays by the wall. His presence is a comfort but preferably unnecessary. A tall man is silhouetted in the doorway, the picture of intimidation. He steps forward and I recognise Brittany's major. His glare is furious.

He spots me first and crosses the room as I pack up my books. "You," he jabs a finger into my chest. "Go get my wife now. I know you know her, she's spent enough time screwing around with this stupid book of hers."

His loud voice and intimidating posture immediately get under my skin. "She chooses to be here," I shout back into his face as he stands over me. "If you can't control your own wife that is hardly—"

"How I want or where I want my wife is not something that _you_ will be thinking about." He spits out the words.

I roll my eyes and cross my arms to hide just how much this giant frightens me. "Wow, I can see why she'd be running back to your fat, white horse. You can be on your way now, Sir Shoutalot—"

"No, I don't think so," he bellows into my face. "I know who you are," he sneers.

I try not to flinch, but I do because this guy clearly has a violent, mean streak.

"You're that Pierce boy's whore!"

The words ring clear in my ears and I can practically feel that angry, defensive part of me snap. I want to claw this bastard's eyes out and feed them back to him. I'm going to—nothing. I'm not going to do anything, because my arms and legs are swinging out against air with Shane holding tightly to my waist as this son of a bitch just watches me.

"Enough, Finn," Rachel's clear voice fills the saloon. She doesn't shout so much as she projects her voice into the space and everyone turns to look at her.

Major Hudson is still by the door and he nods his head towards it, summoning Rachel like a dog. "Come on, Rachel. Get back to camp now."

Shelby has come to stand by me where Shane has let me go but put his body a little between mine and Hudson's. Kurt is standing by Rachel in a show of support for the worried-looking woman. I can't be sure of what worries her more, that I'll hurt her husband or that he will hurt her.

Hudson takes another step forward. "Now, Rachel," he says, his hands balled into fists.

Rachel flinches, but her expression becomes stony, determined. "No," she says in a low voice.

"What?" The major's face falls into the blank confusion I'd seen that first night he came to Corcoran's.

"No, Finn. I'm here looking after my friend." Rachel has barely left Quinn's side in days.

He scoffs. "I've heard enough and I'm done with you being here instead of—"

"What?" Rachel interrupts. "I should be sitting in that tent waiting for you to be done playing at war?"

"You should be wherever I tell you to be," Major Hudson's voice turns whiney as he looks to the ceiling with his palms up in an odd, placating gesture.

"You don't—Quinn needs me and I—"

Finn practically growls, "You're choosing that dumb bitch whore over your husband?"

"Finn!" Rachel sounds as shocked as any of us at his angry words. "I will do as I choose!" She stomps her foot as she becomes just as angry as her husband. "You can't tell me where I will be and what I will do. This isn't the seventeenth century and I am a modern woman with modern expectations. If I so choose it I can—" She looks about the room, as though searching for inspiration. "I could purchase a night right here. With Quinn." Her voice is getting shrill, but she looks to Shelby for confirmation.

Shelby just nods like she doesn't quite believe what is happening.

Rachel nods as if a point has been proven. "See, I can even purchase my own _whore_ as you so indelicately described the best, most intelligent, and warm woman I have ever met. You can leave now, Finn." She turns her back on him and steps away with a dramatic huff.

"You belong at my side," Hudson persists. "In my bed," he adds crudely.

I've had enough. "Okay, no." I step out from behind Shane, laying an open hand softly on his arm to let him know I won't be attacking anyone. "I'm going to give you a choice, you overgrown man child. You can either take your blubberous behind back to your P.T. Barnum exhibit with your body still intact or you can stay and experience what a real _whore_ can do to your undoubtedly diminutive cock. Namely, turning it inside out and making you wish you'd never been born. Now, I don't doubt that you're willing to prove your manhood by backhanding a woman, but let me tell you, I am _so_ ready for a good scrapping."

I don't quite know where all the words come from, but I mean every one as I stare up into his pale face, hardly any space between us.

The overgrown infant clearly doesn't know when to stop, because he reaches out to Rachel again. "You belong to me, Rachel. You'll do as I—"

My knee connects with his crotch. Hard. I've overestimated just how far I'd have to reach and connected with an audible thud. He bends at the waist protectively covering himself, but it's too late. Rachel and Shelby let out almost identical gasps and Shane is back to his protective posture in front of me.

I step back and Rachel walks over, putting a hand on her husbands shoulder. "You should go, Finn."

"Are you serious?" he asks, glaring at me through a pained grimace. "After what that bitch did to me?"

Rachel looks at me and I worry for a moment what she might say. He is still her husband after all. But she just nods with a smile her husband can't see. "Yes, I am."

Hudson looks between us all. Kurt, Shelby, and I all stare at him, a hostile front against his ignorance and presumptive arrogance.

"Fine," he says with a final glare at all of us. "I'm done with all of you."

He grabs the back of a chair sitting at the bar and throws it to the ground in a childish display. The crack of timber meeting timber makes all of us jump. He then slams the door behind himself hard enough to shake the glass in the window frames.

"And good riddance," I let out around a sigh of relief.

I try to smile at Rachel, but then I see her lip quiver as her resolve shatters and she bursts into tears. Kurt has her wrapped tightly in his arms in the next instant.

Kurt makes shushing noises into her hair. "Do you want to go back to—"

"Quinn, yes. Please," Rachel gasps between her sobs.

"Okay, sweetie." Kurt takes the woman by the shoulders and guides her back toward the stairs.

I think of my friend and only hope that she is ready to handle what Rachel is clearly prepared to give her.

— s — — b —

San Francisco, California 1878

The docks are loud. That's the first thing Brittany notices. Everything is moving and everyone is so busy. The first few days are a blur. She talks to dozens of people and learns dozens of new ways to tell someone to go away. Some were more shocking than others and she can't help but wonder if they talk to her that way because she's a boy or if that's just how these dock types address everyone.

Brittany never really knew for certain what Brent did for their father. Sure, he liked to say he did all sorts of dangerous things, but it was hard to tell what was real and what he was making up. Honestly, Brittany never wanted to know for sure anyway. Pretending to be him doesn't mean she has to be involved in bad things. She hopes not anyway.

She just wants to work like the other boys she sees around the docks. She doesn't know how old they are, but she's noticed a certain type of boy that will act as a courier between districts. The skinny boys that might not be able to lift much but can run just fine. They congregate outside certain buildings at the start of the day and find odd jobs to do; to get paid for. That's all she wants. Unfortunately, that's not so easy.

It would seem she stands out too much. There's something about these boys that reminds Brittany of a flock of pigeons. All brown and grey and blending in together, no one notices one bird amongst the rest. In Brent's finest clothes she looks more like a peacock.

Brittany changes her clothes and keeps waiting at that corner, doing her best to blend in. She tries to start smoking since she sees so many of the other boys trading cigarettes and stories, but the first time she tries one she just ends up puking into a trash can. It isn't pretty. She expects taunts and jokes from the boys, but they just keep pretending she isn't there. That's when she realises that the other boys are actually a little…afraid of her.

They recognise Brent and that makes things much harder. The grown men on the docks are tough in their dismissal of Brent, but the boys are too scared to talk to her at all. She can't find a way into their circle. She has no choice but to start over again. Her funds are dwindling but she needs to spend more time not just watching men in general but watching these boys in particular.

She walks a block away. She watches the way they move their arms when they talk; the loose way they lean against their chosen stretch of wall. The most fascinating moments are when the boys accept a delivery. Everything happens in these subtle looks and gestures. They indicate payment, time, location all with little nods and head tilts. Brittany imagines that it could take someone weeks to learn every little nuance. As a dancer, she's used to seeing, learning, and replicating movements. It takes her one day; half a day to learn and another half a day to be sure she has it down.

She takes her place against the wall, early the next day. She tucks her blond hair more completely under a newsboy cap, leaves her long coat at the hotel in favour of a shorter jacket that makes it easier to run. That's the secret here. Looking like you can move quick.

A man approaches the group and all the boys go on alert. He's holding an envelope. It's worth less than a package, unless it's on a rush. The man pulls out some money and Brittany knows it's a rush. She steps forward, knowing that her long legs will give her the automatic advantage. She shoulders the other boys out of the way, just like she's seen them do to each other. The man spots her over the boys' heads and he lifts up one hand to indicate what he's willing to pay. Brittany offers her own price, just a little higher. He won't believe she can really do it if she just agrees to his first price. He accepts the new bargain and hands over the envelope.

"Can you read?" the man asks.

Brittany nods. This is her other advantage over many of the other boys. She can follow written directions.

The man says nothing else, just hands over a second scrap of paper showing the address. It's on the other side of the city.

"If you can get it there before nine o'clock he'll make it worth your while." The man's voice is gruff and evasive.

Brittany doesn't believe that she'll get anything extra for her troubles. That's not the point of her first job, though, so she just agrees. Her curt nod is enough to see the man leave. She never learns his name or the contents of her delivery. It doesn't matter, because now she has a job; she has a living and she has a life in this city.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

It's weeks before Brittany can actually _feel_ the improvement in her shoulder. Dr Beiste says the scar tissue is still building. Brittany sees her every other day since she has been helping her train in a way that will keep her shoulder moving and strong once she's healed. It's frustrating and slow and some days Brittany doubts she'll ever get to use her arms properly again. The doctor keeps assuring her that she'll be fine, though. Brittany has to believe her; she couldn't face the other possibility.

Santana is always patient. Whenever they can find the time to be together Santana is perfect. Brittany is infinitely glad that she gets to see more of Santana now than before she left. She still has _those_ dreams about Santana, but they only hurt in the best possible way. Shelby lets Santana have more time to herself which means more opportunities with Brittany. Santana says that Shelby must be going soft in her old age. Brittany thinks that Shelby was scared that Quinn was going to die; it gave her a new perspective on things. Either way, Brittany is glad.

Especially today.

Sunday means a day off for Brittany. A day to do as she pleases. A day with Santana. It's been almost a month since her return to Clothier and Doctor Beiste gave her the all clear yesterday. Brittany ran through a regular drill with Anderson, even sparring with Matt with almost no pain. She was a little winded, still not back to the same fitness from before she left, but she's close, so close. And she's ready. If Santana's ready.

God, she hopes Santana's ready.

If Brittany thought long and hard enough she would be able to calculate how long she's known Santana for; she could figure how long she's known she_wanted_ Santana for. She could put a figure, a number, next to her days of wanting—beyond _a lot_ of days. As much as it had seemed fate brought them together it also seems to have conspired against them in one way or another. Between Santana's fear and Brittany's own hesitance they've stood in their own way for long enough.

Brittany approaches Corcorans with a fresh bunch of purple flowers. She had to hunt a long while for them since they seem to be reaching the end of their season. It seems so strange that she has known and loved Santana for a flower's whole season. Then again, it shouldn't seem strange at all when she knows that she will love Santana for the rest of her life. She knows this as surely as she knows her own name. More so, since someone had to pick and then tell Brittany her name. No one had to tell Brittany she loves Santana. She just knew.

Brittany opens the door, shifting her arm so the flowers are behind her back. Santana is going over her receipts at the bar again and Brittany would like to surprise her. It's selfish really. Brittany just wants to see Santana light up in the way that seems reserved for Brittany only. It makes her feel wanted, even needed. It's a good feeling. It makes her feel that all her hard work, all the effort to be the best that she can be, is worth it.

Every time she sees the girl she loves smile she knows that everything, even the arrow to the shoulder, is worth it. Everything suddenly feels completely effortless after all. Because everything she does is for Santana.

Brittany lifts a finger to her lips when Kurt spots her from his place stacking bottles across the bar from Santana. He nods and smiles even as he rolls his eyes. It's sweet really, because Brittany knows that Kurt loves Santana. So does Quinn and that obnoxious Sugar girl. There are other girls in the house Brittany is sure that care for Santana. It makes Brittany glad.

Something about Kurt's sudden quiet must catch Santana's attention, because she lifts her head distractedly from her notes. Brittany taps her left shoulder as she slips around to her right. Santana looks around to her left then swings back with an angry glare. She spots Brittany, grinning with both hands behind her back. Santana's glare melts immediately into the most beautiful smile imaginable; Brittany's breath is immediately caught in her throat.

Santana slips out of her chair, but Brittany takes a quick step back. As the other girl hesitates with a curious smile Brittany drops to one knee, lifts the flowers out in front of her with one hand and holds the other hand over her heart. Santana's eyes go all warm and shiny as she lifts a hand to her fading smile.

Brittany clears her throat carefully before saying in her deeper Brent voice. "Miss Santana, I was wondering if you would consider walking out with me today." She grins, proud that all her words came out in the right order.

"Oh, Sweets," Santana starts, tears shining in her eyes.

Brittany's heart nearly stops. Did she say it wrong after all?

Finally, Santana laughs and nods, taking the little bundle of purple flowers. "Now get up off the floor. Please."

Brittany steps into Santana's embrace as slender arms go around her neck. She remembers the first day that she knew she wanted to be Santana's friend. The day that she resolved to be her best self. To be better for her. She remembers that tiny splinter in the wall between them in the doctor's house. That sliver of wood had consumed all of Brittany's attention so she wouldn't get lost in Santana's eyes. It seemed important then. Nothing as important as Santana is now, but it's a part of that memory. The first time she reached for Santana's hand and linked their pinkies together.

Brittany untangles herself quickly and hooks her pinky around Santana's again.

Santana lets out a low laugh to accompany her grin. "Where are we going, Sweets?"

— s — — b —

She leads me to our clearing again. I don't think I'll ever be able to disconnect this place and her as two separate ideas. When I think of Brittany I think of clear liquid light. Even if I leave Clothier, if ever I remember this place it will be full of her. The grass, the trees, the way the clouds rest in the atmosphere won't be significant to New Mexico; they're significant to my thoughts of her. Brittany dancing. Brittany in her uniform. Brittany kissing me.

We still don't have that blanket. I'm not sure we ever will remember it. It's almost a ritual now, the way I unbutton her shirt and she lays it out alongside her blue jacket for us to lie on. We kiss and smile and laugh as I pull Brittany to the ground. The atmosphere is still clear, so the blue sky and summer clouds are visible above us. I have every intention of lying back to find shapes in the clouds with Brittany but somehow get distracted along the way. Brittany's lips are just right there and so kissable. She smiles at me and suddenly my body is laid out along hers and my fingers are buried in her hair.

Her fingers pushing into the small of my back make me move against her in a way that could bring colour to my cheeks if I had any notion of someone watching us. Thankfully there has never been any sign of an intrusion to our clearing. It is truly ours. We may not have our house with the blue door and purple flowers, but we have this. We have our clearing.

Our kisses go from slow to passionate and Brittany's hands move to my hips before one slips to grab at my backside. We've not lost control since that night after she got back. We've been careful. Or, I've been careful and Brittany has been an awful tease.

I pull back from her, disconnecting our lips and letting my body fall to one side of hers. She loosens her hold on me and her right arm wraps around my waist. I kiss her neck and a small shiver runs though her. I can't help but smirk even if she can't see me.

She sighs as her breathing slows. "I want to show you something."

Brittany untangles herself from my arms. "I've been practicing," she says. "In between the training."

I nod, listening intently.

"I used to dance everyday. I think—I think I lost some of that. I've been practising, though, and, well…maybe I can just show you?"

Brittany stands and takes several deliberate steps away from me. I sit up with my legs crossed in front of me. I'll do whatever Brittany wants to do and follow wherever she might wish to lead us. I sit attentively as she just breathes and waits. For something.

She looks up at me. "I need you to sing."

"But you didn't say anything—"

"Oh, right. Sorry, er. Can you maybe. Just something to…"

I just grin at her struggling over her words. "Of course I can."

She sighs in relief and I get distracted by her smile before she prompts me again, "Just something like last time."

I remember the last time. The time when she broke down, because she didn't know who she was. I know she is feeling more sure of herself now than she was then but at the same time I wonder.

— s — — b —

Santana is watching her closely. Brittany knows this, but she does her best to concentrate on what she's trying to do. She wants to share this with Santana. This thing that she's found. This thing that she knows becomes clearer when she dances. She's started to understand it after Santana cut her hair, when they spent their night together; after Santana…did what Brittany dreams about all too frequently.

Santana starts to tap out a steady rhythm against her leg, and as the first words of song fill their clearing Brittany begins to dance. She feels her limbs move in exactly the way she intends. Her new strength—her revived strength—allows her to move in a way she was never capable of when she danced with Holly as her teacher.

She likes the pace she's able to maintain, how she can hold her body in these strong lines that fit Brittany-the-soldier better than Brittany-the-girl. Before her father died Brittany's aim was perfection. She enjoyed it of course, but the purpose was different, lacking. She was just a girl that danced. Now she is more than that. As she twists and tumbles and leaps through the air she feels more. She is more.

Brittany can see Santana watching her. This incredible girl who _sees_ Brittany and loves her. Brittany dances for her. She dances for Santana, but she also dances for herself. Now, when she dances she feels a kind of completeness that she was missing before. She still has uncertainties and doubts, but they seem less important. Especially with Santana here.

She can feel her attention just as easily as she can feel the weight of the arrowhead hanging from the leather chord around her neck. Both are important to her. Her love for Santana won't fade. The memories of the men she killed, of the pain she experienced, won't fade. They're a part of her just like the scars of her injuries, just like the sun etched into her skin, they're a part of who she is now.

The strength in her muscles compete with the weight of her body to lift her from the ground creating an elusive tension in her dancing. The tension enhances her dance. Brittany's love for Santana contrasts with the pain of her violent actions in the same way. Brittany can be two things or more and still be a whole person. With Santana, she can be complete. Most importantly, this new person is strong enough. She can keep Santana safe.

— s — — b —

I push through the last chorus with tears in my eyes and a sob caught half in my throat. Brittany's face is so serene, the incredible strength in her body seems to radiate from the depths of her being. The strong line of her shoulders reveals the new strength of the person she is.

Her dance draws to a natural conclusion as I husk out the last words of the ballad and get to my feet. Her head is bowed when I collide with her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and kissing her soundly. Her hands wrap around my back automatically as I stretch on my toes to deepen the kiss.

She pulls back with a sigh and gasps when she sees my tears. I draw one hand back to stroke Brittany's cheek.

"It wasn't that bad, was it?" she asks with a smile.

I press a quick kiss to her lips with a shaky laugh. "It was beautiful. You're beautiful."

Brittany brings my hand from her cheek down to press against her chest. I can feel her heart thundering under my palm. I look up into her eyes to see them shining brightly through a blissful smile.

"Every heartbeat belongs to you," she explains. "Everything I am is yours and everything I do is for you. If you let me I will take care of you. I'll protect your heart, but I want to protect you, too." She looks off, frustrated as if the words aren't quite the right ones. "Nothing will ever hurt you," she promises, her eyes begging me to understand.

I do understand. I think I do, but I don't really know what to say. She's stolen my words and my breath away. All I can do is hold her. I take one of her hands and put it on my shoulder. I place my own left hand on her waist and clasp our free hands together. I take up the leading position in our own waltz and she smiles as I take the first step. She follows my lead effortlessly as I start to hum the same song from before.

"I trust you, Brittany. There's no one else like you. I trust you with my life and my heart, but…"

Brittany's brow furrows in question.

"I can protect you, too. You don't have to be the strong one all the time. Sometimes—If you need to be weak then you can trust that I can take care of you, too."

Brittany's smile wavers, becoming tremulous as tears shimmer in her eyes. "Thank you, Santana." Her voice is clear and sure. "Promise you'll always be mine."

"Always." I don't hesitate for a second. I almost talk over the end of her sentence, but I can't help it.

I draw her closer to me, moving my arm from her waist to her back and kissing her neck before resting my head against her shoulder. We continue to sway and turn on the spot and I'm not really leading anymore, but it doesn't matter as we both guide and follow and support each other.

— s — — b —

I never meant to put so much faith or trust in another person. It's not something that I was ever willing to do. I trusted my mother, but she was gone before that trust had the chance to truly grow. My father I loved and trusted to care for me, but I never trusted him with my secrets. Tommy was my dearest friend for the longest time even if he was an arrogant ass and he never really saw my heart.

Brittany is my anomaly. She is the one person I trust, most explicitly to protect my heart. She promises to protect my body as well and I have every faith that she can and will. I trust her hands, I trust in her spirit. More than that I trust her guidance. She's become my compass in all things. If I waver on the smallest decision I can hear her voice in my ear, low and calm as she whispers the sweetest, wisest things.

Just as she does now.

We both know what we want as we stumble into a room in Corcorans that I picked at random. Her hands heat my body and her smile warms my heart more than anyone has before. I know that I love her and now with her body healed and her training resumed there are no excuses, no reasons at all that we can't make love in the way that she and I both need.

"I love you." The words bubble out of me as she closes the door behind us.

This room is so familiar to me. I've worked in here so many times I've lost count. All of that is irrelevant now. All I can see is Brittany. Her beautiful face and her sweet smile; the confident smile that makes my knees weak and my breath stuttering is all I can see, all I can think of.

Brittany's smile turns sweet as she looks at me. "I love you, too." She says it like it's just a fact of her existence.

I grab at her shoulders and press my lips to hers. She smiles into the kiss like she can feel how much I want her. She chuckles like she finds my desire amusing. My hands shift to her hips and I tug her into me, ensuring that the pressure of my hips finds its way into her groin. She groans and I know after a moment of pushing against her that I have her as riled up as I am.

I tug her shirts from her trousers, not taking any care whatsoever. She says the doc gave her the all clear; I mean to take full advantage of that. Her belt is loose and her overshirt parted in moments.

She smirks. "You have some wonderful skills there, Miss Santana," Brittany's smile is much closer to cocky than I'm used to seeing.

"Shut up," I say automatically. We don't talk about my work. My _old_ job. I smirk wickedly and tug at her neck to bring my lips to her ear more easily. "I have _so_ many skills, Sweets, and now they're all yours."

— s — — b —

Brittany shivers at her tone. The words hardly even matter.

Santana pushes the shirt over her shoulders then pulls the undershirt over Brittany's head in quick movements. Her eyes flare darkly as she looks at Brittany's exposed abdomen, but then she's pushing Brittany back toward the bed.

As Santana moves to put the bundled shirts onto the chair in the corner Brittany sees a scrappy piece of paper fall out of her shirt pocket. It's Brittany's list of questions for Santana. She's been subtly working her way through it but never actually shown it to her. The other side of that page is a little more sensitive. As much as she's happy to say out loud all the reasons she loves Santana she's not _really_ ready to have her written words seen by anyone. Let alone if Santana knows how long she's been keeping and writing that list.

Santana bends to pick up the page before Brittany can even think of moving. She scans over what Brittany knows is her list of questions. She sits down on the edge of the bed and Brittany holds her breath waiting for her reaction. Santana glances up at Brittany with a warm expression before returning her attention to the paper. She flips it over, her eyes scanning over the title and across the first few points before she stops. Everything stops. She isn't even breathing.

"San?" Brittany calls her.

Santana doesn't answer as her fingers run over the edge that is stained with dried blood. Brittany's blood from the arrow. She's been meaning to transcribe her scribblings onto a neater leaf of paper but just hadn't gotten to it.

"Santana?" she calls a little louder. "Are you o—"

Suddenly Santana leaps almost on top of her, crashing their lips together and kissing her over and over again. Short, damp kisses are pressed to different parts of Brittany's face making her laugh as she tries to pull Santana back and kiss her properly. Finally she wraps her arms around Santana so she can roll them both over and Santana is caught underneath her.

Santana pulls Brittany down for another searing kiss and Brittany forgets to ask any questions, because the fabric of Santana's blouse is pressed against her bare skin and really, she would much prefer to have Santana's bare body against her instead.

— s — — b —

I'm lost in Brittany in a matter of moments. It's like I completely lost any conscious thought halfway through Brittany's list. The one titled _The Most Wonderful Things About Santana_. I know she loves me. She says as much and I can feel the truth in her words and in her actions, but seeing it written down like that, all the _reasons_ for her affection, just makes me feel too much all at once.

Now Brittany's hands are getting tangled in my layers of clothes and I can't help but laugh a little.

"I thought you used to wear dresses," I tease her.

"I did. And they never seemed such a bother before. I think you wear too many layers, San."

I press one more kiss to her lips and step away from the bed, because it really is too difficult to remove all of the layers lying down. It's still a little difficult even standing, because Brittany keeps touching me and pushing her hands through and around the layers of fabric. She insists on _helping_ unclasp my corset while she kisses me the whole while. I'm decidedly glad that we have all night.

When I'm finally down to just my drawers and both our shoes are kicked to the floor beside the bed I find myself under Brittany again. Her belt has dropped somewhere near her boots and her slacks sit low on her hips. Her mouth is pressed against my neck, just below my jaw, as she kisses and licks over my skin. Our torsos are pressed together and the feeling is just… perfection.

I run my fingers up Brittany's strong back, feeling the muscles ripple under the smooth skin as she moves against me.

"How are you so strong?" I don't even realise I've said it out loud until Brittany laughs.

She nips at the skin of my neck one more time before her face comes back into view. "A lot of very painful, hard work," she explains seriously.

I run one hand up her back and the other out along her arm, over her bicep. "So worth it," I say with a teasing smile.

Brittany's eyebrows quirk up, "Oh, is that right?" She presses that insanely firm stomach into me, making me gasp.

"Uh huh," is all I can say once I can say anything.

"Well, I'm so glad you enjoy my pain then," she says, another roll of her body against mine punctuating the word 'enjoy'.

"God, Britt," I laugh around another moan.

Brittany keeps rolling her firm stomach into me and I know she's doing it on purpose. It makes me groan almost every time. I'm sure I've never made the kinds of noises that Brittany is getting out of me right now. The position of our bodies isn't even putting pressure in the right places yet. It's just the animal way she moves against me; the feel of her taut muscles sends these surges of arousal straight through me.

Brittany stills her movements to just look down at me and I forget about anything that isn't Brittany's eyes. Their grey-blue is dark and stormy with lust, but nothing can hide the adoration there. The hand that isn't holding her up moves from my waist to stroke my cheek then pushes past my ear and into my hair. Our lips reconnect a moment later in a rush of need. The taste of her lips is addictive. I thank every star in the sky for letting me have her, for letting me kiss her as much as I please.

I let my fingernails drag up Brittany's back until I find the fabric of her chest bindings. They're completely in my way and I determine to see them gone as quickly as possible. I scramble with searching fingertips until I can find where the end is tucked away. I feel silly for not finding it sooner since somehow Brittany manages to always tuck it away in exactly the same spot every time. I guess it's just frustration, because my fingers keep fumbling and it takes me three goes to even extract the end from the rest. Brittany's lips leave mine to burn a hot trail across my jaw, back to my neck where she sucks against the skin below my ear.

It distracts me enough to almost drop the bandage end again. My groan is a mixture of arousal and legitimate frustration and Brittany must realise what I'm trying to do, because she finally takes pity on me, rearranging her legs so she can sit up above me.

Oh. This is new.

The bandage falls down around her hips and she pulls the last coils loose. Her legs are either side of my waist and I sit up a little, leaning back on my elbows so I can just look at her.

— s — — b —

Brittany is in awe of the goddess between her legs. She doubts she can ever understand how she got to be here. Her greatest wish has been surpassed in Santana, so she will never be wanting for something ever again. With Santana beneath her, looking up with such a wanton expression Brittany has never been more sure of anything in her life.

"You are everything to me." Her words come out through a breath, almost a sigh.

Before Santana can respond Brittany lays down against her with their bodies flush. They both sigh into the contact. They kiss and cling to one another as their bodies occupy a rhythm of their own accord.

They both become dissatisfied with the layers of clothing left between them. Santana pushes her thumbs into the waistband of Brittany's pants at the same time that Brittany lifts her hips to help remove them. She manages to wriggle them and her drawers to her knees before becoming tangled. She giggles as she goes back to kissing Santana regardless.

A few more kicks sees both items flung to the floor, Brittany glancing over her shoulder to make sure they are definitely off the bed. She turns back to find Santana laughing wholeheartedly at her.

"What's so funny?" she asks through her own smile.

Santana just shakes her head. "I don't know. You were so serious for a second there."

"So were you," Brittany retorts. "We can't be all serious all the time, San. That would be boring."

Santana shakes her head and smiles. "My fiancé is the smartest woman in the world."

Santana's eyes sparkle and Brittany feels her own heart flip over in her chest.

"Fiancé?" she repeats, sounding just as awestruck as she feels.

Santana chews her bottom lip as she nods. "_You_ asked _me_, remember?"

"Yes, but I—"

Santana's smile falters. "You don't like it."

Brittany just laughs, because, "I love it."

She kisses Santana, because she can before looking between them to find the ring she gave Santana resting against her sternum, between her breasts. Deliberately brushing the side of her hand over Santana's nipple, Brittany picks up the ring and holds it in the band of light that has shifted to illuminate their bed. The band shines dully in the moonlight.

"I'll get you a real engagement ring one day, Santana. One with a proper diamond and all."

"I like this ring," Santana says.

Brittany lets the ring fall and her expression become serious. "You know," she starts. "I have noticed something."

"And what's that?"

"I'm naked."

Santana looks down between their bodies where Brittany has left a deliberate gap between them. "I noticed," she says, a devious smirk pulling at her lips as she pulls her knee up between Brittany's legs. Brittany gasps even as Santana's eyes flutter closed at the contact. Brittany fights the urge to press down against her thigh, forcing herself to finish what she wanted to say.

"You, um—you are still wearing…something." Brittany says, using her hand to push Santana's thigh away from her centre.

Santana's brow creases and her eyes open again as Brittany leans back. She even sits up as though keeping their bodies at a more desirable proximity.

"Relax, San. I'm not going anywhere."

Brittany hooks her fingers into the sides of Santana's last piece of dress and Santana lifts herself just enough for Brittany to pull them down her legs and off over feet. Santana smiles when Brittany throws that last piece over her shoulder without looking. Why would she look away when the most beautiful woman in the world is laying naked and open for her—under her?

Brittany takes a deep breath then lays her hands against Santana's calves. She traces over the length of Santana's legs all the way to her hips with just her fingertips. Santana's breath grows faster under the touch and Brittany quietly revels in the power she has over Santana's body.

She stretches her own body out alongside her, their faces close. Brittany could drown in the dark gaze in front of her. She almost gets lost there. She wants to kiss her. She wants to love her and so much more, but…

"San?" she asks quietly.

Santana hums.

Brittany reminds herself that she can say anything to Santana. "I don't know what to do," she admits quietly.

Santana's answering smile is warm and comforting. "That's okay, Sweets. I got skills for the both of us, remember?"

Brittany's laugh is unashamedly loud.

— s — — b —

I keep smiling as I push Brittany onto her back. I could feel earlier that Brittany is ready for me. As ready as I am for her.

I kiss her cheek on my way to whisper in her ear. "Just follow my lead," I say, silently hoping that I do actually know what I'm doing.

I align our bodies, my core bumping over hers. The pressure is definitely stimulating and gives me a boost in confidence. I distract us both with a kiss as I run the fingers of one hand up her side and palm her breast. Brittany groans into my mouth and I press down with my hips. On the next thrust I feel Brittany's hands on the small of my back.

I shift sideways and pull Brittany so she is lying on her side with me. I go back to kissing her as I pull her knee up and she follows my lead, hooking her leg over my hip. I feel my own nerves rushing through me, fighting with my arousal. I don't stop kissing Brittany, though. Instead, I slip my thigh back between her legs and press against her slick centre. She gasps into my mouth and I nip at her bottom lip as I trail my fingers up and down her thigh.

Brittany, never willing to be a passive participant licks her tongue into my mouth and palms my ass. I let out a grunt that would be embarrassing if it wasn't accompanied by Brittany's own whine as my hand goes back up to stroke over her breast. We both giggle as I pull back from the kiss and relax my leg away from her. We remain tangled though our hands settle to safer areas.

"Hi," she says without voice.

"Hi," I whisper right back.

I trace my fingertips over her hip and her smile falters just a little as my touch wanders over her abdomen. I can feel those incredible muscles tense as my fingers drop lower, closer to the heat that had just been pressed against my thigh. I keep my gaze locked to hers as my fingers drops down and into slick, hot flesh. Brittany gasps and her eyes flutter but don't close as I move my fingers through her.

When her eyes finally close I drop my forehead against hers and press my fingers lower. I enter her in one quick movement and am glad to find no substantial resistance. I move with her body's natural motion as I press closer and deeper into her. She rocks and gasps against me. In my own haze I think that she is lost to the sensation, but then Brittany pushes her arm between us and slips one, then two fingers inside me.

I gasp, my heart thundering in my chest; I am so ready—so wet for her. I've never felt more connected to another person. With my fingers inside of her and hers inside of me we rock together in perfect synchronisation, both striving for the same goal.

I feel the first warning tremor against my fingers and then hear Brittany gasp as she must feel my own body's response to her. I desire her so completely; knowing that I can do this to her—for her—sends my body crazy with pulsing sensations and shivers that radiate out from and return to a concentrated, building pleasure at my core. That same place that Brittany's hands are working over in the most delicious ways. Neither of us are sure in our movements, we're just feeling, touching and teasing—ourselves as much as each other.

It's more than enough to have us gasping for air. I lick, kiss, and bite at Brittany's neck as I desperately move against her, hearing gasping breaths by my ear. As every sensation becomes too much and I lose any sense of rhythm Brittany moans out my name. The sound pulls me abruptly to my own peak. We press tightly to one another through long, shuddering gasps until our agitated movements slow to nothing.

I see stars and wishing places and feel more in this one instant than I have in my entire life.

* * *

AN2: Thank you so much for coming this far with me. This is just the start of their life together so I really hope you'll follow me through everything they still have yet to do.


	23. Mr Greyson I Presume

AN: Sorry for the long wait my loves.

If you have an interest in the Faberry in Best Trick I've published my very first missing scene from Best Trick in a new story called Missing Pieces. It's on here(ff dot net) so just click on my name and find it on my profile :). See the bottom of chapter 18, top of 19 of Best Trick if you would like context but you can read it without. I'm still figuring out how I'm going to lay out that story so if you have anything that you really want to know or moments you want to see please PM or leave a review.

I'm terribly impatient so this is unbeta'd. Please forgive any errors.

Thank you all so much for your support.

Ship on and remember pinky promises.

* * *

They dance in a slow circle, surrounded by girls and tricks and gambling soldiers. The song Mercedes sings is beautiful and heartfelt and the perfect accompaniment to a perfect night. Brittany gets to hold Santana in her arms and breath in the clean smell of her hair. Santana's shoes are delicate slippers while Brittany's boots make her even taller. Brittany has never paid much attention to shoes before but this small detail is important now. It's important because the difference means Santana can rest her head on Brittany's shoulder as they dance. It means Santana can relax into her arms while Brittany pulls her closer, wraps her up like she could keep her there, safe and treasured always.

As the concert comes to a close Santana leads Brittany away from the floor. Quinn and Rachel smile at them from their place on the plush corner lounges. Brittany loves to see the way Santana smiles back so easily as she guides them up the stairs. Brittany also very much enjoys the view of Santana's thighs offered by the short underskirt she wears on Wednesday nights.

They move into the first available room and fall to the bed. Brittany is impatient to feel Santana and she knows Santana wants the same. Brittany kisses feverishly over Santana's neck. Impatient hands run up her thighs and fingertips work under the edge of Santana's corset to grab at the waistband of her drawers and pull them down. Santana kicks them away once they're past her knees and Brittany's hands are immediately back under her skirt.

"Brittany," Santana's tone matches the impatient hands pushing at the coat still on Brittany's shoulder.

She leans back, balancing on her knees either side of Santana's hips. She quickly pulls off her coat and tosses it over the side of the bed. Santana watches the movements closely as Brittany pulls her shirt and undershirt out of her slacks and tears them quickly over her head. Santana is... Everything. With her hair splayed out over the pillow and her eyes full of want she _is_ the thrill that rolls down Brittany's spine.

Brittany tosses her shirts somewhere near her jacket(maybe) and rejoins her lips to Santana's. She would settle her body along the length of Santana's but there are scrambling hands at her belt. Santana makes quick work of the buckle then pushes Brittany's slacks and draws down past her hips and backside. Brittany could sigh as she finally falls into the cradle of Santana's thighs, her hands slipping back in under Santana's skirt to properly experience her now bare backside.

A groan sounds from both of them and Santana's fingernails dig into Brittany's back as her hips jerk up in response to Brittany's searching hands. They're both breathing hard and Brittany lifts her chin to lick and nibble at the tender skin at the hinge of Santana's jaw. They both move quicker than they should, more demanding of each other's flesh than they've let themselves be before. It's heated and it's desperate. They cling and rock against each other for reasons that Brittany has no full understanding of.

Brittany rapidly stumbles to her peak, crashing over the edge before Santana and almost losing the ability to think in the process. Santana doesn't seem in the least bit displeased with the order or outcomes of their love making but Brittany won't stand for any inequality.

She quickly strips Santana down to her most splendid nakedness and spends the rest of the night making sure that her Beautiful Girl's pleasure outshines and outlasts her own.

— s — — b —

San Francisco, California 1879.

Brittany has kept her head down and her nose out of trouble. She does her work well and she does it discreetly.

The only trouble with doing this job particularly well is that she has begun to attract the attention of the wrong kind of people. Without even meaning too, without wanting it to happen she finds herself being approached by various shady men with various shady deals that they would like her to transport communications for. It's what she's known for. If someone wants a communication delivered in a timely, safe manner they give it to Brent. The boy might be strange but he's quick on his feet and doesn't talk back. He charges proper so they know he's not completely screwy and they pay him what they know he's worth. Brittany doesn't try to form any kind of reputation. She really doesn't. It just turns out that a reputation is only too willing to find her.

She's many months in and quite a few dollars up when she hears from one of the runner boys that Brent Pierce has a price on his head. The boy looks her up and down in a way that says he knows exactly who she is; who she pretends to be. If a simple runner can pick Brittany as her brother than there will be others, she's sure of it.

She needs to leave the city before one of those more willing to trade in her life for a few dollars catches up to her. She just doesn't know how to go about that. She never left the city on her own when her father was alive. Even Brent only ever left the city in small trips for his schooling. She considers writing to Holly. She knows April is in some communication with her old teacher. What would she say though? What would she do? She can't burden others with the weight of her deception. She needs another solution.

She leaves the docks and walks back toward her father's house. It's still there at the top of the hill, though others live there now. She wonders if they found that nook that she used to keep secret things in. She wonders what they have done with the gymnasium and dance studio. She does miss dancing very much. Occasionally dancing with the staff at the Rhodes hotel is fun but not really the same.

Brittany looks back over the city and the dark smudge of the docks. She doesn't know what she was looking for in coming all this way. Clarity maybe. She wishes a long walk were enough to make anything clear. She huffs a sigh and returns to the docks, returns to another long afternoon of checking over her shoulder, of hiding herself and hiding who she is from everyone around her.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

Brittany wakes with the sun. She knows she doesn't have long before she has to return to camp. There's been whispers among the men that they're to be sent on another expedition. There's been even quieter whispers about men from the train company in California coming to inspect their land interest. Anderson has mentioned before that Hudson has taken meetings with men from the rail company. He didn't say as much but Brittany has a strong feeling that money is involved. Money or gold is usually involved in things worth whispering about. All these rumours mean that Brittany needs to leave Santana's warmth much, much sooner than she'd like.

She watches Santana's shoulder shift subtly up and down with her deep, peaceful breaths while her fingers flex in the loose hold she has on the sheet draped up over her body. She looks so peaceful and beautiful Brittany can't imagine a day when she wouldn't want to wake up next to Santana like this. She remembers waking in her army cot not so long ago and being sure her life would stay lonely. Her wishing place was full of things she could never have. She looked at the stars and hoped only for her life to be calm again.

The light creeping in through the small window reflects off the band of the watch-ring on Santana's finger and causes that usual warm feeling to rise in Brittany's chest. She can imagine now _their_ wishing place. It looks like a house on a hill with a beautiful garden and a view of San Francisco spread out below. Now she hopes for Santana to be happy. She wants to be happy with Santana. And Santana says she love Brittany.

With her heart beating faster Brittany reaches out to push loose strands of hair behind Santana's ear. She strokes her thumb over Santana's cheek where she knows a dimple will appear when she really smiles. It's a light touch but Santana wakes up all the same. She stretches and her naked legs move against Brittany's.

"Morning," she says through a sleepy smile.

Brittany smiles back and follows the urge to run her thumb over Santana's lips. "I have to go back to camp."

Brittany feels the change under her fingers as Santana pouts. "I wish you didn't have to."

"Me too," Brittany sighs. "I have to be back to serve up breakfast and get to training."

Santana's pout deepens, her eyes going big and bright, pleading with Brittany to stay.

"Santana," Brittany whines. "That's not fair."

Santana chuckles as she pushes Brittany onto her back to lie over her. "No, what's not fair is me being away from you."

Brittany takes in a sharp breath, their mutual nakedness stirring her blood fast out of sleep. Santana smiles down at Brittany like she's the most perfect and precious thing in the world. She trails the fingertips of one hand up over Brittany's ribs and back down again.

Santana kisses Brittany's neck, just below her ear. "I want you to stay." Her eyes shine with so much contented love that Brittany feels her chest tighten and her stomach flip.

"San," Brittany's eyes flutter shut as Santana thumbs over her ribs. "I want to stay too but I—"

Brittany's eyes snap back open when Santana sits up. The sheet that covered them pools around Santana's hips, exposing both their torsos to the cool, morning air. Brittany shivers, only partly from the shift in temperature. Santana smiles as her hands settle on the jut of Brittany's hips. Blood and heat rush down her body as she stares up at Santana, her own hands trailing up the warm skin of Santana's belly. Santana—warm and mussed from sleep—laughs a little under the tickling touch. Her hair is a wonderful mess on top of her head, curling over her shoulders and Brittany feels every measure of want curling in her own belly. She sits up to kiss Santana deeply, breaking away only when Santana's hand moves between them, fingers slipping into wet heat.

— s — — b —

Noah wakes up outside the Independence Inn with a pounding head and an empty belly. He's not sure what's worse at this point and wonders what he might have gotten up to last night to end up where he is—although he has been wandering around this end of town for a while. He wants to go into Corcorans and make sure everyone is okay. Really, he just wants to know. If he happens to get a little something while he's in there so be it.

Across the street the front door to Corcorans opens. It's curious since, going by the height of the sun the morning bell can't have gone off yet. Noah almost misses that bell. He's working on paying off his debt to the House but Shelby hasn't let him visit any of the girls in weeks.

A soldier steps out into the light and Noah recognises Santana's man—or boy as he is. He's got a wide smile on his face as he steps out into the sun and glances up to the second floor where Santana must be. It makes Noah smile just the same knowing what little he does about the two love birds. He's heard stories from Mike and heard rumour from a man who'd heard it from some of the other girls. Noah could hardly believe it when he heard Santana wasn't working the floor any more. Shelby must be going soft in her old age to agree to it. Although, she always has been a hopeless romantic for all that she discourages the same sentiments in her girls. Shelby wouldn't be in Clothier if she wasn't.

Pierce turns back down the street towards his camp. Noah ambles to his feet, ignoring the ache in his head as he moves to pursue the soldier.

"Hold up there Pierce," he calls out.

The boy's long legs are carrying him away faster than Noah can follow in his current state. Brent stops at the sound of his name and Noah jogs quicker to catch up.

"Sorry for hollerin," Noah taps the top of his own head in greeting.

"Can I help you Sir?"

Noah balks at being called 'Sir'. "None of that B-B-Brent," he smirks at remembering the boy's stutter. "I'm nobody's father and I'm certainly no sir." Noah rubs a hand over his close cropped hair and a spark of recognition shows in Brent's eyes.

"Puck?" he questions curiously.

Noah nods. "One and the same."

"Oh," Brent shifts a little, looking towards his camp again. "Well then I guess... can I help you Puck?"

He looks so completely perplexed that Noah can't help but laugh. He regrets it almost immediately as his head pounds with the pressure. He grimaces and presses the heal of his hand to his temple.

"Are you alright?" Brent reaches out one hand but then retracts it like maybe he shouldn't touch Noah after all.

"Hey, you're that fella who laid out Coleman good," Noah remembers suddenly, seeing the boy's long reach.

Brent frowns. "Yeah, what of it?" he looks a little surprised at his own brisk tone.

"Woah there," Noah laughs, lifting his hand up in defence. "I just heard is all. Bastard deserved a good whooping anyway and I heard about what happened with Santana. Just meant he doubly deserved it."

Brent's scowl deepens. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

Noah looks the deep blue uniform up and down. "Funny sentiment heard from a soldier."

Apparently that's the wrong thing to say because Pierce turns immediately on his heal and starts back down the street.

"Right, right apologies," Puck says, keeping pace with the boy. "That's the headache talking and I shouldn't have said that."

Brent doesn't stop but he does spare Noah a glance. "I don't especially mean to be impolite Puck but... Why are you talking to me? I don't especially know you."

"Sure you do," Noah insists still shuffling quickly to match Brent's strides. "We've met before and we have a few common acquaintances.

"That's all well and good and it's nice to see you again Mr Puckerman but I'v need to be somewhere else. You have a nice day now." Brent just walks a little quicker.

"Oh, so now it's Mr Puckerman too. None of that. Mr Puckerman was my grandfather. Why you in such a hurry anyhow?"

"I need to be back in camp for breakfast."

Noah's stomach growls at the reminder of food. "Do you reckon you could sneak me a meal or more?"

Brent stops short. "I hope you don't mean for me to steal?"

"No, no not at all. Okay yes. But only cause I'm hungry."

Brent looks him up and down, taking in his rumpled clothes and dusty jacket from his night on the street. "Do you have any money? Any food or a place to—"

"Oh, hey, hey. I'm not after no charity. I got a house with Ma and plenty of money left still—okay not plenty but I got some. I just thought some army food would be something nice to change my regular day."

Brent scoffs a laugh as he relaxes. "You haven't been in the army before have you puck."

"No chance, no how. Couldn't tie me down for nothing," Noah agrees. He considers the questions though. "Would you have snuck me food if I didn't have nothing?"

Brent looks a little uncomfortable. "Well, I don't like the idea of a man being without, you know?"

"But you'd take whatever Coleman had left to him" Noah suggests.

"Will you be coming to a conclusion any time soon Puck? I really do have other places to be."

Brent is clearly annoyed but Puck needs to ascertain a few things before he lets the boy go on his way. As always, Puck decides the direct approach will be best.

"You know you talk pretty good for a soldier," he starts.

Brent shakes his head dismissively and takes another stride away.

Noah glances back to Corcorans. "You have plenty of money to yourself today B-B-Brent?"

"That depends on what you mean Puck," Brent throws over his shoulder.

"I mean, can you support what you've been doing with Santana. For that matter, is Santana the only whore that you've been doing—"

Noah is on his back before he can even get the question out. His jaw feels like it's been dislocated and Brent is standing over him, eyes full of anger and fist still raised.

Noah lets out a pained laugh. "Goddam B-Brent. You got me good there."

"Get up and I'll get you again," the fuming boy growls. "Say anything like that about Santana and I'll—"

"I'm not sayin nothin like that again I swear." Noah spits blood out of his mouth and wipes his chin.

"Then why did you say it now?" Brent's voice is still raised. Angry.

"I just wanted to make sure you were who they say you are."

Brent looks around like someone might be watching them now. "And what do they say I am?"

"A good man."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Now will a good man help me up?"

"Take it back," he snarls, anger still present under the confusion. "Take back what you said about Santana."

"Alright, alright. She's an honourable lady like no other. And she's my whore of a sister to boot."

"She's your sister?" Brent asks, really confused.

"Well, not by blood but close enough. I care about her like she is."

Brent straightens up and holds out his hand. "Alright then."

Noah is wondering if he didn't pass out for a moment there; Brent's expression cleared so quickly. The anger is replaced by the same easy smile he'd worn as he left Corcorans. Noah grabs his hand and is lifted to his feet with a quick jerk. Brent dusts down his back with a heavy hand.

"I think it's best if you leave now, Puck." Brent says.

It's not a warning necessarily so much as a friendly suggestion. Noah realises that it's probably for the best if he leaves.

"Yeah I'm sure you're right, soldier boy."

Brent gives a final nod and then stalks off down the street, disappearing around a corner.

Noah turns back on his own way to Hunna district. He thinks he likes this soldier of Santana's but he'd very much like to confer with Mike before he comes to any real conclusions.

— s — — b —

Brittany grimaces as she watches Sam drop the third can of beans into the broad pot hanging over the flame.

"You heard they're sending us out again?" Sam asks absently.

Brittany feels the blood drain from her face. "What?" She knew it was a possibility but she'd made an effort to not really think on it.

"We're headed West and maybe North all the way up to Sante Fe."

"They're packing up camp?"

Sam nods. "Maybe so."

"Where'd you hear this from?"

Sam tosses the empty can into the pile of rubbish accumulating from the camp's breakfast. "From a man who know's a soldier." He winks at his joke.

Brittany has to sit down. She lays her knife aside and slumps down into the stool by the edge of the tent. She feels a pang of hurt in her shoulder echo the churning worry in her gut. "I can't leave her," Brittany says. "I can't."

"Hmm?" Sam glances up and then his face falls as he finally registers Brittany's panic. "Well, heck Brent. I didn't even think. I mean it's probably not true. There's always whispers about us moving out. They usually come to nothing."

"But what if it doesn't? What if they're true?"

"You know what," Sam fixes a smile back to his face. "You shouldn't worry a thing about it cause thinking back I reckon I heard this from one of those jokers from third. You know how they always like to start somethin."

Brittany manages to swallow down some of her panic.

"Even if we were out you know I'd help you figure something out. Anderson too." Sam gingerly puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She nods and takes in a few deep breaths. "We'd figure something out," She repeats. It's definitely a comfort to say 'we'.

"Absolutely," Sam says.

"And you heard it from someone in third?"

"Positive."

Brittany laughs, feeling light again.

— s — — b —

San Francisco, California 1879

Brittany should have been back at the hotel hours ago. It's been getting dangerous for her even during the day and staying out at night is just downright foolish. She couldn't turn down this job though. She's had to be very careful who she does and doesn't accept jobs from. Tensions have been rising between a few different clans especially around her father's old wharfs. It took months for anyone to go near them.

Someone must have paid a pretty penny to have kept the story off the front page. Even after the rumours of his death were eventually confirmed with a quiet obituary in the back pages of The Examiner his enemies remained nervous. Maybe it's because Brent's death was never reported at all, even in obituaries. All these months later though both Goulsby and Smithe's men have been squabbling over who gets to claim the area as their own. There are a few other interested men but Brittany hasn't needed to learn their names yet. Smithe was the first to put a price on Brent Pierce's head and Goulsby was the first to double it.

Brittany has dropped off her latest delivery and now she needs to be back at the hotel, quick as possible. She ducks through alleys quickly and quietly, hoping to remain unseen. There's noises everywhere in a city as big as this but she still listens for anything that might be out of the ordinary.

She's in the neighbourhood alongside the one she lives in; she's so close and then she hears it, footsteps following close behind her. They're light and quick and trying to stay unnoticed which means they ring out loud and clear to Brittany. She thinks quickly, knowing that she won't be able to outpace them before she gets to the hotel. She slips into an alleyway that she knows is dark and usually deserted. If Brittany knows anything at all, it's the back alleys and side streets of San Francisco.

Brittany presses herself against the wall and tries to breath as quietly as possible. She maintains a hope that whoever is following her might miss the alleyway and her disappearance into it. She shuffles further into the darkness, feeling her way as her eyes continue to adjust. The buildings either side are high enough that only a narrow strip of stars are visible above her. Her eyes become more accustomed to the dim and the block of light that is the street beyond the alley is bright and warm looking.

She hears her pursuer reach the edge of the alleyway and then stop. Her hopes of whoever he is passing by are gone and she braces herself for whatever might be coming her way. She almost smiles at the idea of actually defending herself. She carry's no weapon since most of her employers wouldn't allow it and she has no idea how to fight. She's never even hit a man before. Brittany wonders for the first time if maybe she won't be joining her father very soon after all.

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

I pack up my papers and books at the bar, glad to finally be done. Kurt is having some traumatic experience upstairs and the sounds of Shelby arguing with him are more than a little distracting. I've been spending enough time with Brittany that most of my chores have been woefully neglected. I know I shouldn't have been so lax and I inevitably regret my failing in the tasks that Shelby has set for me. She has been nothing but kind and generous allowing me respite from the floor. It's just that whenever I'm with Brittany I tend to lose track of other important things. Nothing ever really seems as important as keeping Brittany close to me.

I take the books and all accompanying sheets into Shelby's office, unlock the drawer and put everything carefully back in its place. The drawer beside it, also usually locked catches my attention as it remains not only unlocked but also slightly open. I pull at the drawer curiously and peek inside. I've never been able to resist properly snooping when I'm able and I can't walk past this chance now.

Inside are several short stacks of letters. The colour of the paper suggests that the letters go back some years and while the creases show that all had been tied into tight bundles some of the them have recently been untied and reopened.

I glance toward the door which stands only partly ajar. I can hear Kurt and Shelby coming back to the saloon discussing a recount of the liquor supply so I take up the nearest open letter to read it.

_Dearest Shelby._ _I hope this letter finds you well. Leroy sends his love as do I. For our part, health, wealth and weather have all been in our favor. Rachel has begun teething which has been our greatest grief of late, though we can't hold her tantrums against her. Leroy dotes on his daughter far too much and I'll admit that I indulge her as well._

I scan over the letter which continues to detail the mundane life of a small family in New York. I can only wonder why Shelby would be in communication with them. Maybe Shelby has a sister I don't know about. But then why would she lock these letters away so carefully and why be going through these letters which by the post date are more than 16 years old. I read to the end, hoping to find a clue. It's signed off with the letter H and love from Leroy and Rachel.

I pick up the next loose leaf and find that it's some years after the first.

_Dearest Shelby._

_Today is Rachel's eighth birthday and our little star is the most excitable and exuberant birthday girl that ever was. She barely sat still long enough to capture the photograph I've sent you and even then her mouth is a little smudged on account of her shifting smile. She still looks so very much like you._

There's a small, tin daguerrotype underneath and I lift it out to find the photograph with the smudged smile. The girl does look very much like Shelby. This must be her niece. I can't help but frown at not knowing about Shelby's sister. I look back to the letter, quickly reading over the little girl's many accomplishments. A mother's pride shines through every word.

I get to the sign off at the bottom and hesitate, reading it over again curiously. Oddly the name at the end is in full and signed as Hiram which is most certainly a man's name. I look at the photograph again. The girl is so very much like Shelby but there's something about her appearance that pulls at my understanding. I put the letter and daguerrotype on top of the desk and shuffle through the pages to retrieve the oldest looking envelope.

_Shelby._ _I hope this correspondence is not unwelcome. You expressed a wish to perhaps be kept appraised of your daughter's health and well being. Consider this the first of many such letters from Leroy and I. I'm very happy to report that Rachel is healthy and her nursery is very much to her liking. She sleeps well and we couldn't be more pleased to now call her our own daughter._

I couldn't be more confused but I can feel my heart beating much faster as I stand on the edge of understanding. I glance at the Daguerrotype of an eight year old girl who's face is so familiar. I dig into the draw and feel around for the hard edge of more photographs. I find two hard cases. One contains an image of a grinning girl of maybe eleven, in the other she is about fourteen and wearing the wide skirt and long gloves of a lady.

I reach further into the draw and feel a scrap of paper different from the rest. It sticks a little to the bottom but I prize it up carefully and eventually hold it in my hand. I see the back first where Hiram in the same neat hand as his letters has written _Mr and Mrs Finn Hudson, May 1878_. A gasp escapes me and I hesitate before finally flipping the photograph over. There in deep, contrasting tones of brown, cream and white are a bride and groom. The groom is incredibly tall and he wears a boyish expression of excitement. Beside him is Quinn's Rachel just a little younger than she is now, smiling just as brightly as in any of the other photographs laid out on the desk. Her mouth isn't smudged from movement any more and her every feature is as clear as if she were standing in front of me.

My first thought beyond shock is of Quinn. Does she know? Does Rachel even know that Shelby is her...

I hear the door open in the Saloon and it startles me enough to bring me back to the situation. I've just snooped through Shelby's things in a drawer which is usually locked and discovered something which she clearly wanted to keep a secret. I push the letters and photographs quickly back into their place.

"...you are sure?" Shelby's voice comes clearly through the half open door.

"Yes indeed." An unfamiliar man answers her. "I've come a long way and I wish to meet with him for just a short time. It's very important."

"If perhaps you could tell me more of your business with him Mr..." Shelby trails off, waiting for the man's name.

"Greyson. My name is Greyson and the business I need to discuss with Brent Pierce is none of yours. In fact my employer requires I contact Mr Pierce directly and in person. I received some information which pointed to an understanding that I could find him here. I don't wish to be rude but if you don't know of his whereabouts then I think I'll be on my way."

"I don't know him, no sir," Puck growls. I didn't even know he was here but I can imagine him pressing in on this stranger. "And I think you and your employer outa watch who you're sniffing around for in this town too."

Shelby cuts in to stop Puck saying anymore, her tone polite and accommodating. "I'm afraid I don't know the name at all Sir. But Please stay for a drink at least."

Puck can't take a hint at all. "I don't think you should put any of your girls on this shiney-shoe bastard's prick, Shelby. Who knows what he brought with him."

I lean around the door to see that Shelby has put herself between Puck and Mr Greyson. The man's suit is a deep grey over a crisp, tan vest and the fabric of the bowler hat tumbling over in his hands is a rich black. He looks horrified by Puck's language.

Shelby seems determined to ignore Puck's theatrics as she talks in a steady voice. "Coming from San Francisco would leave a man parched I'm sure. You _could_ stay for a drink."

Mr Greyson looks around the room, at Sugar sweeping in her corsets and short skirts and at Kurt shifting crates of liquor behind the bar. "I wish to cast no aspersions on your business Ms Corcoran but I'm afraid I have no thirst for your particular wares."

I feel a shiver pass down my back at his cold tone and Puck's shoulders pull almost to his ears but Shelby doesn't show any sign of offence as she just nods politely. "You may prefer the Independence Inn on the other side of the street if you don't find Mr Pearson before the last carriage leaves."

"Pierce, his name is Brent Pierce," Mr Greyson corrects. "Please endeavour to contact me if anything does come to mind."

"Certainly, sir and please feel free to return at any time should you change your mind. I'm sure any of my girls would be happy to assist you with anything you require."

Mr Greyson takes a substantial step back before he nods to Shelby. "Ms Corcoran. Good day."

Puck jerks forward with a snarl on his lips making Mr Greyson flinch back, his hand moving over a pistol hid in his belt. Shelby shows her first sign of annoyance in the firm grip she has on Puck's arm.

"Good day Mr Greyson."

Fear shoots through me. The realisation that someone from Brittany's all too dangerous past has pursued her here grips at my heart as I walk back into the saloon.

"Santana," Shelby says in a warning tone unsurprised to see me. "Don't do anything rash."

"I have to warn her Shelby. What if it's one of those…there's sp much danger and—" I cut myself off. Brittany had told me about her life in San Francisco in confidence.

Shelby directs me back into a chair at the bar and nods to Kurt. A glass with whiskey in the bottom is put into my shaking hand.

"I don't want this," I say quickly. "I have to get to—"

"Brent. I know you're worried," Shelby interrupts with careful emphasis. "But if that fancy, goddamned state man is holding observation at the wide front window of the Independence then what is it you think he'll suspect seeing a girl rush out of here and off towards that camp? He'll follow you straight to Brent and you won't even know it."

She nudges the glass in my hand, persuading me to drink. I glare at the glass, tapping my foot nervously as I think about what she's saying.

"I can't just sit here, Shelby. I can't lose—" my voice breaks through a half sob.

Shelby pulls in one deep breath. "Fine," she says turning to Puck. "Do you know Pierce?"

Puck nods. "Gangly kid in Blue."

"Good. Sneak out the back. Don't be seen. Tell him about Greyson and bring any messages back."

Puck turns to me. "Don't you fret at all Santana. I'll be back real quick."

Shelby grabs at Puck's arm hard enough that he has to hide a wince. "Don't be quick Puck. Be unseen."

My heart nearly stops at the tense worry in her voice.

A sudden, girlish yell makes me jump. "I knew it."

Puck, Kurt, Shelby and I all turn towards Sugar who is standing with her broom still in hand and a delighted expression on her face.

"What can I do Kitten? I'm here to help." Sugar stomps her foot to emphasis her readiness.

Puck looks at Sugar curiously and I realise my error. In the midst of my shock I said 'her'. Shelby covered up some of my mistake and Puck seems to have missed it. Sugar though doesn't miss a thing that might interest her.

"Go," Shelby pushes Puck towards the back. She then turns to Sugar. "Come with me." She drags the girl to her office with Sugar turning wide eyes and wistful looks back to me.

I feel angry at myself as worried tears well in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall.

— s — — b —

Brittany just lets loose. She feels freer than she has in weeks. Sam gave her a fright earlier but she has every good feeling now. Things have been calm lately and she's sure it's going to stay that way. So she throws all her strength and speed into the easy fun of the horseshoe chase. Anderson hadn't indulged the boys in their sport for a few weeks and Brittany had missed the race.

Now—just like that first morning in Clothier—Brittany knows that she is going to win this. She ducks and weaves through the trees, stronger than she was those months ago with the ache in her wounded shoulder infrequent and easily ignored. She can hear Matt and then Sam pounding behind her but isn't worried. They're fast but they aren't nearly as fast or agile as Brittany is. She isn't even really breathing hard as she gets into the row of trees she thinks the horseshoe disappeared to. She hesitates for a heartbeat and can hear Matt rapidly gaining on her. She sways in her spot watching for that telltale glint.

There it is. The shoe has hooked itself to a branch some ten feet from the ground. It makes her smile because no one but her or perhaps Matt could even retrieve it from there. She knows Matt will be rapidly gaining on her so she moves quickly, hoping her muscles will remember the movements she needs to get that high. She lets go, again revelling in the freedom she feels in her body and in her spirit as she springs up to grab at a lower, strong looking branch. It holds as she swings forward and back again, building momentum until she can quickly jerk her body up and over the branch. She feels the bark of the tree grazing her hands but she doesn't mind. That shoe is worth an extra day's wages and she means to claim it.

"Just stay right there," she instructs the shoe balancing her bare feet across the branch. I'll be there in just a sec—" she starts losing her footing as the branch she's standing on creaks under her weight.

The branch starts to crack at its juncture with the main trunk and Brittany's body is jerked forward. She's going to fall, that's inevitable but she's going to get that damn shoe first. She stretches out, even as the branch gives way and she knocks the shoe from it's resting place. It hits the ground with a dull thunk a moment before Brittany lands flat on her back with her limbs flung out around her. A shower of leaves and twigs quickly follows and Brittany just closes her eyes and mouth, hoping to avoid any choking or eye scratching incidents. She peaks up when the last leaves have settled and sees that damn branch still holding to the main trunk, though it's now at a very odd angle.

"Ow," she moans loud enough for the branch to hear her. "That hurt."

Matt and Sam are next to her in a second. Sam's worried face comes into her vision, blocking out the trees above them.

"You all right there Brent?" Sam glances behind him at the dangling tree limb. "What ya go falling out of a tree for?"

Brittany rolls her eyes before sitting up. Everything feels to be in the same place as before the fall but she winces at something digging into the underside of her hip.

"At least I get well paid for my injuries this time Sam," Brittany pulls the iron shoe out from under her and presents it to Matt and the other men that have followed them.

The last man to come through the trees wasn't in the race at all and they all turn to him curiously. "There's a townie in the camp," is all he says before turning and walking back the way he came.

Everyone else follows quickly and Sam helps lift Brittany to her feet.

"You think it might be one of those rail men we've been hearing about?" she asks Sam.

He just shrugs. Brittany isn't really worried at all because she has a good feeling about today. They step out into the bright sun and see the 'townie' in question. The bottom falls out of Brittany's stomach. Puck is standing on the edge of camp, breathing hard and wearing a distinctly worried expression.

— s — — b —

San Francisco, California 1879.

Finally a shadow appears at the end of the alley. The man isn't very tall or broad and Brittany wonders if maybe she has a chance after all. She knows she's strong. If she can just…

The man reaches into a pocket and flicks out the switch blade at his side. Brittany shivers, suddenly very aware of the cool brick under her hands. She can smell the distinctive odour of the docks, washed through with salt air and city mess. She thinks she can smell the man too. She can hear his ragged breath. She waits for him to move, desperate for something to happen. She remembers all her training with Holly, not the dancing but the gymnastics, the agility and strength lessons.

The man lifts his hand to shade his eyes from the light of the street. Brittany pushes off from the wall. She's going to face this and she won't be afraid. She eyes the knife, not really knowing what to do, only knowing that she needs to get it away from him as quickly as she can.

"I know you're down there." The man's voice is higher than she expected, younger. "You're time is up Pierce." The voice shakes over the last words, whether in anger, fear or something else Brittany can't be sure.

The man looks over his shoulder nervously. Brittany sees something she truly didn't expect and she feels the spike of her fear reduced. This isn't a man at all but a boy approaching her in the alley. She follows the line of bricks by her head to see that he is considerably shorter than her. His voice is also much sharper than even Brittany's is.

"What are you after?" Brittany asks. She's not really sure what her question is but she feels like she needs to talk to this boy.

Apparently it's the wrong thing to do because suddenly he launches himself into the alley and towards Brittany's voice. Brittany dashes away and kicks out her foot, hoping like mad that she'll trip him. She connects with his ankle and he stumbles but doesn't fall or drop his knife. He swings wildly around, waving the knife towards her. Brittany dances out of his way, looking for a chance to grab his wrist. He makes another wild swing and she sees her chance. She ducks low under his arm, twisting quickly to stand up behind him. She grabs his wrist and pulls his arm quickly behind his back. She knows that this will both be a little painful and very difficult to get out of. Brent—the real Brent—had often done this to her in his most spiteful moods.

She yanks his wrist hard again and this time the knife slips out of the boy's grasp. She pushes forward into his back and he's forced to stumble face first into the wall opposite. Brittany grabs up the knife from the wet ground while keeping a firm hold on the boy's arm. She doesn't like the way his face has been forced into the brick of the wall but she knows he wanted to do much worse to her—or to Brent.

"You bastard," The boy sobs when he catches sight of the blade now in Brittany's hand. "Just get it over with. Leave my mother with no one."

"I'm not going to kill you," Brittany says in her deepest and harshest Brent voice. She won't kill this boy but he needs to have a little sense—and fear—put into him. "Now why did you follow me? You after Smithe's money?"

"Smithe can be damned to hell!"

"Goulsby then?"

"No. I'm on my own."

Brittany shakes her head at the boy's stupidity. "You shouldn't have told me that. What's your name anyway?"

He hesitates. "Jake," he says finally.

"No last name?" Brittany growls. "Good boy. Think about your family before your own fool self. Now if you're not after the money then what are you chasing me with dangerous toys like this for?"

He does't look like he's going to answer so Brittany brings the arm she's holding up a little higher, not enough to dislocate his shoulder but pretty close.

"My father," he gasps out.

"What about him?" she asks already knowing what the answer might be and just how much she doesn't want to hear it.

Tears start to fall down Jake's cheeks. "You killed him, you bastard. You should just kill me too."

He sounds so devastated in his belated grief that Brittany could almost weep for him as well. Instead she loosens her hold on his arm. "Would you believe me if I said I didn't kill him?"

"Not for a second. Everyone knows what you are. I'd only believe that you've killed so many men that my father would be easy to forget."

Brittany feels that familiar ache for what her brother had become before his death. She never knew that he had become the worst kind of man, not until after she decided to be him.

"I'm not the man that killed your father," Brittany sighs, finally releasing Jake's arm.

Jake remains against the wall as though still pinned. "You can say it as many times as you want. I know the truth."

Brittany suddenly feels very tired. She's tired of hiding, of running and she's tired of everyone and no one knowing who she is. "I wouldn't doubt that Brent Pierce killed your father, no doubt on behalf of my own father,"

Jake finally turns, confusion clear in his eyes.

"But," Brittany continues letting her voice resume a normal pitch as she pulls the newsboy cap from her head. "I am not Brent Pierce. My name is Brittany. Brent was my brother and I hate him for killing your father and for every other man he killed or acted cruel towards. I'm sorry for your father Jake but the man you aim to kill to avenge his death is already gone."

— s — — b —

Clothier, New Mexico 1880

I sit at the bar for the whole hour it takes for Puck to get back. Kurt waits with me while Shelby takes Sugar into her office. I don't know what they're talking about. I assume it's about me and about Brittany but I'm too worried about Brittany and this Mr Greyson to do anything but trust that Shelby is on my side.

Kurt sees Puck before I do and I spin on my seat at the bar quick enough that I almost tip onto the floor.

"Puck?"

"He's alright," he says breathlessly. He must actually have moved quickly for a change. It seems strange seeing Puck outside his usual slouching demeanour.

"What are we going to do?" I demand.

"He said to sit tight."

"What!" I'm apoplectic with compounded worry and impatience. "Sit tight? There has to be more than that. Tell me everything you said and he said and for the love of God keep it brief. But, Puck if you leave anything out I will garrotte you with your own boot laces."

Puck blanches so I know he's taking my very specific threat seriously. "Okay, well your boy was with a few other soldiers when I got there and it was a might challenging to find where he was when—"

"Is this brief Puckerman?"

"Right, right. He was all charged up to run back here since he went and assumed your life to be the one in danger. I calmed him down some saying that you were fine and all but he was still a mite twitchy. I told him all about the Greyson fella that came through here and he—that is Brent—was pretty nervous about it. He called over a Lieutenant...someone Eccleson or—"

"Anderson," I correct impatiently. "What else?"

"Yeah well the lieutenant came over and then the three of them started talking about Brent leaving. And leaving soon."

"Brent can't just leave. That would be desertion and a whole other shit-storm. He'd be jailed if not hanged."

Puck nods and takes a long draft of the drink Kurt handed him. "They said something about his shoulder and claiming injury if they can get the doc to sign off on it."

"And then he can just walk away? We can leave?" Relief washes through me. Brittany could leave immediately and I can follow her when it's safe. Or I can go with her now. I thumb over the gold band on my finger. I'll follow Brittany anywhere. "What am I to do then Puck? What did Brent tell you?"

Puck shrugs and then flinches back at my dark glower. "He didn't say," Puck explains quickly. "Said he'd come find you soon."

I slump back into my seat and pick up the shot of whiskey I'd been ignoring. I throw it back and barely notice the burn in my throat. My limbs tingle as all the nervous energy leaves them. I'm no longer panicked so much as still worried and a little annoyed that Brittany would ask me to just wait for her to come by for me.

"And that's everything?" I ask Puck, finally. "Just wait by and by?"

"You've no fret to have Santana. Brent will look out for you."

I frown because I know Brittany will look out for me. I'm much more worried about the danger she might allow herself to be in for my protection. I glance at Shelby's still closed office door.

"Was Brent on the way to see Beiste then?" I ask Puck quickly.

Kurt clicks his tongue. "Santana, no you should wait like Shelby and Brent have both asked you to do."

"I can't just sit here and do nothing while—"

"You don't know what the danger could even be Santana and if Mr Greyson _is_ watching then—"

I cut Kurt off. "Then I'll have to be careful not to be seen."

— s — — b —

Brittany shifts uncomfortably in the doctor's residence while Lieutenant Anderson explains—in a rather sideways way—what it is they require. Doctor Beiste keeps glancing at Brittany in confusion and Brittany can't do anything but look apologetic. Since her lieutenant doesn't know about who Brent really is she doesn't know how to talk with the doctor without giving herself away. For all that she thinks Lieutenant Anderson will remain on her side, she can't be sure. If he reacts poorly the repercussions could be bad enough to hurt Santana as well as herself.

So she nods along with her lieutenant because that's what she should do.

"So do you understand what we're asking of you sir?" Anderson finally concludes.

Doctor Beiste looks at Brittany as she says, "Of course. But if you could leave me with my patient a moment then I could—"

"Oh but that wouldn't really be neccessar—"

The doctor holds up a commanding hand. "I really must insist."

Anderson looks ready to argue further but Brittany stops him. "It's okay, Sir, I need a check up anyway."

Anderson tries to straighten out his expression. "Very well. Come find me at camp when the documents are properly drafted. Thank you doctor."

He turns quickly on his heal and lets himself out the door.

"Now," the Doctor starts with her arms crossed. "Are you going to tell me what in the hell is going on here?"

"Someone found me," Brittany explains quickly. "I don't know who or what they want but Puck says he comes from San Francisco." Brittany feels the frustration and fear bubble up in her again. "I knew I should have done more to keep that Brian Ryan quiet. I just never thought…What if they do something to her?" She appeals directly to the doctor.

"To her? To Santana? What are you tangled up in Brittany?"

"It's not me doc. It's Brent."

Doctor Beiste looks at her like she's said something strange.

Brittany pushes her hand to her forehead. "I mean my brother," she explains. "Brent and my father weren't nice people. I enlisted because other, equally not-nice people decided to be done with Brent Pierce. If someone is here looking for him, for me then I'm in danger and so is Santana."

"But you can't just leave." Doctor Beiste nods toward the door. "That'd make you a deserter."

Brittany breaths a sigh of relief. "Exactly. So please can you help me? One last time and then I'm out of your hair. Please, Doctor."

— s — — b —

I have to get to Brittany. It's all I can think as I run past the back doors and windows of every business between the House and Beiste's. If Mr Greyson finds her first, who knows what will happen. He talked about business and his 'employer' but who knows what that could mean. He was so cold and the gun at his hip terrifies me.

I dart out onto main street beside the doctor's residence. I check up and down the street for any sign of Greyson. The road is packed with people and horses so I move quickly, checking over my shoulder as I run up the stairs. Somehow I run headlong into a man's back. I choke on a gasp as I recognise the clean crisp material of Mr Greyson's suit.

He turns to catch my arm. "Oh, I'm sorry Miss..."

I barely stutter out the first syllable of any name besides my own as fear grips my heart and closes my throat.

"Well, Miss Motta if you'll excuse me." He pushes past me and opens the door.

I scramble for his arm yelling, "No!" I don't know what I can do but I know I need to stop him getting to Brittany. There's a rush of movement as Mr Greyson just pushes his way through the door and sees Brittany standing by Beiste.

"Mr Pierce I must speak with you but this young woman seems determined to stop me. If you can please, perhaps restrain her?"

My struggling halts at his professional tone. He is talking to Brittany in a way that seems eager to cause no offence.

"Sir Grey?" Brittany asks, the most peculiar expression of recognition on her face.

The man's concerned face turns genial at Brittany's apparent remembrance of him. "Now, I haven't been called that in a long time Mr Pierce. I'll admit I only remember you as a young boy but I'm sure the business I bring you will have you remembering my name from now on." He gently but firmly prizes my hand from his arm and takes a deliberate step away from me. He holds his empty hand out to Brittany in introduction. "Edward Greyson at your service."

Brittany looks at me before taking the man's hand. "Brent Pierce," she says, visibly shaking away the tense confusion from moments ago. "It's a pleasure to meet with you again sir. I'm sorry you had such a time in finding me. I've been somewhat…indisposed."

Mr Greyson looks Brittany over looking for an obvious flaw in her stance. He then looks at me as if I might be the indisposition Brittany is talking about.

"Nerve damage," Beiste provides quickly. "An indian arrow to the shoulder has left Pierce quite incapacitated in his left shoulder with limited mobility in all his—"

"Well that is a shame," Mr Greyson interrupts, glancing at a watch pulled from his vest pocket. "Sorry to appear in such haste but I really need to be on today's post back to the train in Arizona. I'm sure you understand." He glances at me then the doctor. "Would you prefer to discuss these matters in private Mr Pierce?"

Brittany shakes her head quickly. "Please Mr Greyson if you have something from my father then speak plainly and with haste."

I swallow back my own reaction. From everything Brittany has shared with me about her father I can't imagine anything from him would be good. I move slowly toward Brittany, wanting to be by her side more than anything but unsure if it's the right thing.

Mr Greyson withdraws an envelope from a pocket inside his coat. "The police have finally released a section of his property that had previously been withheld," he explains. "This includes a certain number of…let us say more _legitimate_ business enterprises. Including but not limited to a particularly profitable shipping company which continues to run in the absence of visible ownership. There is also a residential property and some number of material possessions which your father entitled to you from before the time of his death.

"Properties?" Brittany looks frozen and like she can't quite understand.

I've reached her side and she takes up my hand without thought. I interlock our fingers but stand slightly behind her so our joined hands aren't immediately obvious to Mr Greyson.

The man hands over the envelope which is worn and creased but apparently still sealed.

"There are two notes in that envelope," he says. "One is the list of property that is now yours. Your sister's care is left to your discretion as well though I have had no luck in finding her either. The other note, I recommend you read for yourself."

My eyes narrow at the callous disregard for Brittany's well being both by her father and this man in his fancy suit.

"Is it from my father?" Brittany's voice cracks a little as she forces out the question. I squeeze our joined hands in what little comfort I can offer.

Mr Greyson looks down before answering. "No, I'm afraid Mr Pierce didn't leave any communication with me."

Brittany's shoulders drop and I feel the ache in my own heart at her disappointment. "Thank you Mr Greyson. And thank you for coming so far."

"Your father's instructions explicit Mr Pierce. You and your sister didn't make them easy to follow but I am nothing if not professional. If you require anything further you can certainly reach me at my office in San Francisco." He looks very much like he hopes Brittany won't attempt to contact him, in fact he looks very relieved to have completed his business all together. "Good day to you Brent." He hesitates like he might add something else but then just nods his head and leaves. The door closes behind him with a quiet click.

Brittany stands very still for a long moment but she doesn't let go of my hand as I move around to face her.

"Sweets?" I ask quietly. "Are you…"

She nods quickly, her eyes closed. I move my body closer to hers until I'm pressed against her. I lift my free hand to the back of her neck, threading my fingers into the fine hairs there. She takes a deep breath and lowers her head. I meet her half way, pressing our foreheads together as she continues to take deep, uneven breaths. I can hear the doctor moving by his desk but I ignore him.

Eventually Brittany pulls away and opens her eyes to look at the sealed envelope in her hand.

"Will you open it?" I ask.

"Not yet."

I take in her calm expression. "Okay."

"Can we go somewhere?"

I don't hesitate. "Of course. Where do you want to go?"

She smiles for the first time, warming my heart. "Somewhere special."

— s — — b —

We go back to our clearing.

She lays her coat on the ground. I unbutton her shirt and then she lifts her undershirt over her head quickly.

"Sweets?" I glance around at the trees surrounding the clearing.

She kisses me sweetly. "I just want to."

I don't argue with her as she pulls the end of her chest binding from the rest and starts to unwind it. I help her roll it neatly for when we leave, loving the feel of her warm, vibrant skin grazing my knuckles.

She picks her overshirt back up from the ground and threads her arms through the sleeves.

"Just in case," she shrugs, leaving the buttons undone.

I taker her hand and she pulls me down with her onto her jacket on the grass. I unbutton my own blouse and pull it away, wanting to feel the sunlight on my arms. We know it's dangerous when someone could come upon us but we don't care. We feel safe with each other, cocooned in the high grasses surrounding us. Even if someone were to come directly into the clearing they wouldn't be able to see us.

Brittany kisses my shoulder tenderly and I feel a shiver run down my back. I join our lips, hungry to taste her and to wash away the hours of fear I felt today. It seems like it lasted for days, weeks. The worry that Brittany could be taken away from me, though unfounded is still fresh in my heart. I lie on my back and pull her to lie over me, needing to feel the soft weight of her. Brittany understands as she always does, or maybe she was just as afraid as I was. Her hands run over my body like she's memorising every detail.

I keep kissing her and feeling every warm and delighted feeling of _Brittany_ washing through me. I push her onto her back again, straddling her hips. I feel my breath pick up as I look down on her and I push her shirt further open, exposing her breasts to the sunlight. She closes her eyes and I have to swallow saliva from my mouth as I watch her breathing deepen. I run my hand over her stomach to the first, second and third ribs feeling the bones and in-between muscles. Her expression shows impatience since I don't want to keep Brittany from anything at all I shift my hand up to cup her breast. She draws in a shaky breath just like mine and I trace gentle fingertips over her with featherlight touches.

My lips join my fingers as I lavish attention on her breasts. Her hips undulate under me and I allow the short distraction of removing her belt and tugging her slacks low on her hips. I press my own hips down into her harder as I kiss her neck and run my hands over her chest, down her sides and—more than once—scratching down her back.

Her legs are shifting forcefully before I even let my hand wander any lower than her hips. I trace light fingertips along the edge of her slack across her lower abdomen. I palm my hand over her hip and around to slip into her pants and grasp at her naked backside.

"San," Brittany mumbles my name around her quiet gasps.

I shift my hand back over her hip until I can enter her quickly. She and I both groan at the contact, my teasing finally done. I find ample wetness and draw my fingers up to nudge at her sensitive bundle of nerves. I change my stance without removing my hand and brace my knees against the ground, knowing that as worked up as Brittany is she could easily throw me off with her bucking. I push two fingers back into her, marvelling at the delicious feel of her and the way my own body reacts to her pleasure. My name hisses out between gritted teeth as Brittany pushes down onto my hand and I feel the fluttering around my fingers.

"God, I love you," I hear my own voice breath out as Brittany arches up.

She pushes up into me, her hands gripping at my upper arms and her face buried into my shoulder as I'm forced into a kneeling position. I don't pull away from her, only shifting my knees as her thighs quake and her spine arches. I keep moving my fingers inside her and rubbing against the spot that has her shaking and shuddering against me.

"Santana it's too much— it's—" her words are cut off by a groan emanating from the back of her throat as she throws her head back.

I immediately press my mouth against the exposed column of her neck, sucking at the pale flesh in rhythm with the continued movements of my hand between her legs. Her back eventually slumps back down and I let her relax, pulling my hand away from her and kissing her cheek and neck in light touches. She keeps breathing heavily for a few long moments and I just watch her, smiling as broadly as I think I ever have.

"That was…" Brittany grins even though she can't find the words. She just shakes her head as if to clear a haze and then opens her eyes. "You even have a halo," she comments smoothing down my hair.

"And you're all red faced," I laugh stroking her cheek.

"Your fault," she jokes back.

I roll onto my side, leaning on my elbow. Brittany just keeps smiling her warm, happy smile. She looks me over as her hand goes to my wrist then trails up my arm, making me shiver.

"What's this?" she asks, fingers trailing over a mark on my arm.

"I don't know." I twist so I can see it better. I look down, shocked to see four defined, red marks where Brittany had gripped me so hard that her fingers left an impression. There's going to be a bruise and a shiver runs down my spine knowing how and why Brittany so lost her control. "You had to hold onto something."

"Oh damn—Santana I'm so sorry." Brittany's eyes go wide, her expression horrified as her hands flutter around the four red marks on my upper arm.

"Sweets, it's okay. It was an accident." I try to calm her down, stopping her from sitting up.

"But I never want—I can't hurt you like that." She's upset with herself and the worry in her eyes looks so much like what I was feeling earlier today.

"And you won't Britt. These will fade quick enough. You're stronger than you realised—"

"But I can't forget…Doesn't this scare you. What if—"

"You won't forget and I could never be scared of you." I pull her back to look at me instead of the marks on my arm. "I trust you, Sweets. You didn't even know you were doing this." I bite my lip not sure if I'm willing to admit what her losing control made me feel. I pull the two sides of her shirt together and start fixing her buttons as a distraction. "The way you reacted to… to what I did to you. The way you did lose yourself to it. Well that…that makes me feel all kinds of things like you wouldn't believe."

Brittany glances at the marks again. "Really?" she asks.

"Really." I get to the last button and smile. "Now, are you ready to open those letters?" It's the first distracting thing that comes to mind.

Brittany looks unsure for a moment but finally agrees. "Alright. Let's find out how rich I am."

I want to laugh at that but then it occurs to me that she might be serious.

As it is Brittany casts the list of property and possessions aside with barely a glance before taking up the other page. Only one side is marked with just two lines of text. The first is an address in San Francisco. The second to my great confusion includes a familiar name.

"What does it mean Sweets?"

Brittany just stares down at the page. Tears are in her eyes and a muscle in her jaw is working tightly. I take the page from her loose fingers to read the words more closely. I look for some sign of error or at least explanation but there is nothing but cold, mechanically produced words.

_The man responsible for your father's death is Russell Fabray._

— s — — b —

San Francisco, California 1879

Brittany, against her better judgement takes Jake back to the hotel. It takes longer than she likes convincing him that she doesn't mean him any harm, the promise of food finally getting him to follow. She orders him a bourbon and a hot meal since he looks like he needs both. They talk about the weather and Jake does a pretty terrible job of side eyeing Brittany subtly. He keeps looking over her chest and down to her trousers as though still disbelieving. Brittany does her best to ignore the staring.

"How did you find me?" It's the burning question and once Jake has demolished half his meal it's the first she asks.

Jake just shrugs. "Pure luck. I know a guy who heard it from a fella."

Brittany feels nerves in her gut. "If you can find me then anyone can."

"That's probably true," he admits.

"Then why haven't they done anything yet? There's a price up for me, I know that but no one's making a move."

"Too scared." Jakes takes up a bread roll from the basket on the table to mop up the last of the gravy on his plate. "There's a new player everyone—especially you—needs to watch out for." He looks at her seriously. "You have to get out of the city. I'm just a kid with his ear to the ground and I know it." He stops to look at her squarely again. "You heard about the disappearances? The girls going missing?"

"I—I know my father was tangled up in it somehow."

Jake nods. "Your father might have been a murderous, blood hungry bastard," Brittany tries not to wince as Jake goes on. "But he was only ever on the edge of all that. He pocketed some dollars to turn a blind eye but he was never behind any of it."

"Smithe then," Brittany suggests.

Again Jake shakes his head in the negative. "Nah. I heard his name is Fabray."

Brittany nods, despite not recognising the name. "I think you're right jake. I think it's time for me to leave San Francisco after all."

* * *

AN: Dun dun duuuuuuuun! For those who were wondering, this is chapter 23 of 27. So four chapters to go.


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